


Bodyguard

by Anonyma



Category: Hotline Miami (Video Games)
Genre: Gen, M/M, but none of that here sorry, but theres nothing here thats really shippy tbh it s just the beginnings of an au, mentions to actual bodyguard will be in here, okay it WILL get shippy tho so, that ends in a lot of drunken sex, this is how it starts, this is how the whole weird ship madness started
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-20
Updated: 2017-04-23
Packaged: 2018-09-18 19:21:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 32,713
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9399260
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anonyma/pseuds/Anonyma
Summary: Biker is a lonely and broken man who's traded out a life of thrill to keep himself alive. Sasha is trying to keep his empire from crumbling after the loss of his family.These two shouldn't team up by any means, and yet...





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> if you're here you probably already know that this is an au i have with my boyfriend. this is just me posting our ongoing roleplay (i'm biker, he's the son)- no real editing happened haha. this shit started as a crackship and then we gave it depth... started from the bottom now we're here...

May 12, 1990

 

That fateful day the May before had all but left Biker's mind. In fact, the man spent five months collecting evidence on 50 Blessings' activities, despite saying he wanted no part in the political aspect of the organization. He knew he wouldn't be able to rest unless he had shared the big secret with someone else.

After sending off his compilation to people of interest and hearing nothing in return, he knew it was completely out of his control. Feeling frustrated by his wasted effort and only slightly panicked about his fate, he changed his phone number, gave all his fish away (the hardest thing he'd ever had to do) and considered moving out for good. Once again there was nothing left for him here.

Speeding down the streets at night, he felt the scar across his nose itch and burn at the memory of the man who'd confronted him- the same man who was now eerily silent behind bars.

 

The new year really had nothing good in store.

-

The warm, purple Miami night was nothing short of tranquil for the fearsome boss of the Russian mafia. His name was Aleksandr Filip Lebedev, but everyone knew him better as the Son, for his father used to operate the organised crime in the city before he was encountered by the aforementioned man who is now picking dust bunnies in prison, thus the nickname.

The night Sasha found out about his father's death caused him to make a vow to take over his dad's business and try his best to properly maintain all the strings, connections, and reputation the Russians have made here, despite Lebedev's tendencies of abusing psychoactive substances, partying until the sun rises, and overall being a complete loose cannon and a bit if a liability sometimes. It was no matter to him, though, because he knew that he could always get shit done regardless of the situation he's in.

The Son was happily riding his slick, stylish Pontiac Firebird Trans Am which he always deeply valued; it was a car he drove absolutely anywhere, and he scolds pretty much anyone who looks at it the wrong way. He was blasting one of his favourite tunes from this Soviet rock and roll musician as he was steering the wheel, not minding how fast he was going and the fact that he was ignoring the signs on the road like it's nothing. This could only spell disaster for the mafia boss and whoever would get in his way.

-

The man commonly known as Biker was a bit of a myth nowadays, and his presence went widely unnoticed. He wasn't sure how to feel about that. On one hand, he used to love the attention; on the other, he would rather not be sent to prison.

Taking a sharp turn in order to head down to the liquor store and pick up a bottle of schnapps, he disregarded a red light, sighing deeply as he did. Well... He wouldn't do that again. He took pleasure in timing all the green lights perfectly, and that had been a slip up.

Taking yet another turn, he didn't notice the vehicle _illegally_ speeding towards him until it was too late.

-

Sasha kept on increasing the velocity of his ongoing expensive vehicle without paying too much attention to the fact that there was someone along the way that was about to collide with him, potentially ending both his and their life on the spot.

Fortunately, the Son stopped jamming to his music and focused on the empty road for a second only for him to realise  that something fatal could've happened to him and that man on the motorbike if he didn't slow the _fuck_ down.

With his heart beating faster, Sasha hit the brakes with all of his might with the tires screeching loudly, leaving evident skid marks on the Miami tarmac. He didn't stop entirely on time, though, since his car bumped the mysterious biker off of his bike, causing them to roll over into a bush.

"Fucking hell!" - he exclaimed after he got out if his car and walked over to the man in the prop delivered by mother nature. Sasha hoped they weren't going to sue him for this incident.

 

Biker felt his hands be pried off the handles by gravity, sending him soaring into the air as his beloved Kaneda remained on the ground. For about half a second he saw his life flash before his eyes, but he was soon greeted by soft foliage, which caused him to sprawl out but little else.

Lucky break, he supposed. Except... If his bike was hurt, he'd be absolutely livid. Not only was that his baby, it was his only chance at escape and freedom.

Groaning, he adjusted his helmet as he began to wriggle out of the bush. "You son of a bitch, watch where the fuck you're going!"

He didn't even _see_ who he was yelling at. He didn't care. He could already smell smoke...

 

Sasha never really cared about the wellbeing of other people, excluding his family, friends, and henchmen, so he wasn't exactly fazed about the fact that he nearly killed someone on the street. He was merely curious what kind of damage was done to his own car, the biker, and their two-wheeled motorcycle. The Son simply wondered if he could bribe his way out of this situation as he usually does when cops try to arrest him when he's up to no good.

He may own the police force, but the lackeys that work for it could only cooperate if numbers were slapped to their faces, to which Sasha always gladly obliged.

There was a little bit of smoke coming from the car's engine, but it was probably because it overheated from the constant speeding. The bike itself only suffered a few scratches, but that wasn't the Son's problem.

When Sasha approached the mysterious individual who was trying to get up from that nearly-catastrophic fall and heard them shouting profanities at him, he didn't take kindly to that and responded in the only way he knew how - getting equally pissy and demanding the respect he thought he deserved.

"Just who the fuck do you think you're talking to, zhopa?! Stand up and say that to my face!"

 

Biker could not believe what he was hearing. Was this asshole seriously threatening him after sending him sky high to a near-certain death (or broken bone, at least)!? His Blessings days may have been over, but one never forgets how to sucker punch an asshole in the face.

 

Or the nuts.

 

Getting up entirely and dusting off his pants, he kept his head bowed down, helmet obscuring his features entirely.

"Maybe the visor doesn't let you hear me properly," he grumbled, "but I told you to watch where you're going, you _dickhead!_ "

Balling his hands into fists, he thrust his head up to meet the eyes of the idiot who'd  knocked him down.

"I coulda died, what kind of four wheeled asshole just runs a red light!?"

It was then he noticed, in the dim streetlight, how the man before him was dressed in white and blue. _God no,_ he thought, _not a fucking Russian. I'm screwed._

He had no reason to be recognized, right...?

 

The nerve this helmet-wearing shrimp had to talk to the leader of the Russian mafia like that.

Sasha was growing pretty tired of this unknown wankstain's behaviour, and let's not mention his his further insults agitated the Son even more. So what if he nearly bit the dust? People die in Miami pretty much everyday, so his death would've meant nothing to him since he wouldn't have been the Son's first roadkill.

A visible vein appeared on Sasha's forehead out of pure, compressed anger. When the biker got close enough to him, he instinctively placed his head on the motorcyclist's right shoulder and pushed him away.

Not tonight. Not now.

"Step the fuck back! You're not a close friend to be breathing my air like that."

He didn't put too much force into that push. He may be just as pissed as the biker, but senseless violence was never his thing. Nonetheless, he kept his left hand in a fist form just in case.

"I don't care what could've happened to you. If you watched the fucking road, then none of this would've happened, now would it?"

 

Biker never really understood why it was _Russians_ that he'd been assigned to kill until it had all been over, but now he was starting to develop a **whole new urge** to beat this one's skull in. He looked important too, somehow. He had hair, for one.

The touch to his shoulder very nearly sent him into a blind rage, so to prevent himself from losing his grip, he pushed his visor up and allowed himself to look around properly, taking deep breaths.

"Touch me again," he replied coldly, "and you'll be missing a lot more than just some paint on your hood."

He then began to walk towards his bike, ignoring any dirty look or threat the Russian gave him. He wanted nothing to do with any of it.

Pretty car... This guy was definitely important. He probably thought he was untouchable- Biker couldn't hold back a chuckle. If only he knew...

"Uh, no. I had the right of way, this is entirely on you. I could argue about this all night, pal."

 

Even though the Son had bitter feelings about the stylish motorcyclist, he was secretly impressed by his bold, aggressive tone along with his "don't fuck with me" attitude. He hadn't seen such cold rage and lack of fear in awhile, so the night was definitely interesting.

The threats meant nothing to Sasha, but   he did feel insulted when Biker started walking away. What, he's not even going to punch him even once? He wasn't walking away that easy.

After Sasha tightened his hairband, he walked over to the motorcyclist before he got on his bike and asked without any hesitation:

"You think you're gonna leave so soon without settling this? Think again. I dare you."

 

Biker looked over at the Russian, and due to his visor being up, the other man would clearly be able to see the irritation in his visible eye. He just wanted to get his booze and get the fuck out of here.

"You're not gonna pay for any damages done to me or my bike, and I sure as fuck am not gonna do the same for you, so I got nothing to do here. Enough of my time has been wasted already."

Seeing that the man was approaching, Biker exhaled hard and straightened himself out to gain an extra inch.

"You don't wanna do that. This wouldn't be my first time beating the shit out of a whitecoat."

 

"Oh no, this isn't about your bike or the car, pink man. This is simply just a matter of some simple goddamn respect, and it seems you've skipped that class in life."

Sasha knew he could've stopped there and just went back home, but despite his anger, he wanted to have a little fun with the biker.

"Might not be your last time either" - he grinned - "But something just has to be done."

But then, a brilliant idea hit his mind.

 

_Drag racing._

 

"How about a race around the block, three laps. You win, I'll give you a wad of cash and let you fuck right off. I win, and you'll have to work as my personal bodyguard whenever you're needed. Questions?"

 

"Yeah, I don't tend to respect assholes who knock me off my bike. Who knew?"

Biker was, in all honesty, already preparing his bike to take off at a moment's notice, but as the man continued to talk, he (regrettably) continued to listen. And this time, his chuckle was a lot louder.

This man really had no idea who he was, did he? This was too much.

"I don't think you want me as a bodyguard, pal. You haven't even seen me fight."

Or had he? Who knew, maybe this guy had been an accidental survivor of one of his raids. But no... He'd remember the hair.

"But I could do with a shitton of money, yeah." He couldn't possibly lose. The stranger running red lights was one thing, but he could take as many liberties as he wanted. "I hope you're ready to let go of a couple grand..."

There was no point in _not_ milking a rich man.

 

Sasha always loved it when someone agreed to his crazy, on-the-spot ideas. The Son wasn't amused by the stranger's claims of being able to fight, though the motorcyclist's agreement to his racing proposition already made the night more fun for the Russian, which is why he laughed loudly when he heard that spiel about losing the dough he's acquired all by himself.

He spits on such ideas.

"Dream on, mudak! This chariot can go up to speeds you couldn't even dream of, so I'd love to see you and your "bike" try to beat me."

The Son didn't want to waste any more time monologuing, so he slid on the front part of his car, got into his seat, and started loudly revving the engine.

"You gonna stand there and let your teeth rot? Come on!"

 

Biker slammed his visor down so hard he very nearly gave himself whiplash. He wasn't going to let some Ruski fuck boss him around. His engine _sounded_ okay when he started it up, so he was pretty confident he'd be able to leave the man behind without issue.

"We use the green light as a starting point," he demanded, seeing as it was currently red.

No matter what happened, he didn't plan to uphold his end of the deal. He knew the man had suggested the position of bodyguard in order to secure and witness Biker's early death. If only he knew.

The moment the light turned green, he sped off.

 

What, no countdown? When the biker sped off as fast as he could when the light flashed "go", Sasha did not slack off at all and put the gearshift into five, slamming down his foot on the gas pedal and set sail on the grubby asphalt. Drag races weren't quite his forte as he usually tended to lose a wheel on or two whenever he decided to participate in one, but a challenge is a challenge, so he had a lot of willpower to keep him going.

Plus, not to mention how he didn't want to lose to a stranger he literally just met, even though their meeting wasn't really the most pleasant one for both parties.

The Son managed to catch up to the motorcyclist, driving his car right beside the biker. He then rolled down his driver's window even more, turned around to face him as the biker was minding the road, laughed in a loud & taunting manner, and blasted an appropriate tune that was much louder than both of their vehicles combined.

 

**"Danger Zone" could be heard.**

 

"Ahahahah! How do you like that, pink man!"

 

Biker was not exactly _experienced_ in the whole racing-against-a-car department (no, that was more appropriate for someone else), but he was certainly no stranger to speeding. His tires were sturdy and had been recently refilled in anticipation for his likely escape, so there was no threat of burnout or popping.

Something sounded **off** , though... He wasn't sure what it was- and he wasn't able to properly find out as _Kenny fucking Loggins_ approached him at high speed, clearly trying to throw him off his groove.

He barely reacted, flipping the Russian off without turning his head. He then took the turn sharper than intended, causing him to almost bump into the damn car again.

"You'll see how I like it," he murmured to himself, speeding up considerably to catch the next green light.

He had to admit it was a little bit fun...

 

The Son felt the adrenaline rush within his body the moment he took the turn along with the motorcyclist. Sasha had cat-like reflexes thanks to his rigorous training sessions with Irina Evergreen, the former Russian mafia bodyguard who worked for his father before she suffered a severe blunt head trauma, so drifting wasn't an issue for him at all; it was like child's play.

That flipped bird only made Sasha more excited, because it made him want to **really** beat him and his puny bike to the ground. The Son wasn't going to lose to such disrespectful demeanour, so you bet your ass he kept on going.

As the music continued to loudly play from the Russian's speakers and the skidding noises of both his and the biker's vehicles shook up the streets, a local gang known as the Mulholland Gravestones, whose members liked to sport yellow and blue attire and who mercilessly enjoyed clobbering anyone with their custom-made pool cues, weren't exactly amused by the fact that two rowdy schmucks were a causing a disturbance on their turf.

In fact, this urban platoon that was hiding in an alley wanted to get them off the streets as soon as they could. After they cocked their guns and exchanged a few phrases, such as "ey, ready to put some more teef on your necklaces, fellas?", the gang members got into their cars and began chasing the Russian and the Biker with a thirst for blood.

 

Biker was entirely tuning out the Russian's presence, merely enjoying the ride as the breeze tickled his skin. He did occasionally look over, not registering the driver, but merely gauging the distance between them to make sure he was still ahead. He wasn't by much... They were practically side by side. No matter, there was time to catch up. He was saving his last burn of energy for the finish line.

If they ever made it, that was. Out of the corner of his eye, he started noticing movement behind them- unfamiliar cars, moving in a suspiciously synchronized manner.

 

_Gangsters._

 

Clicking his tongue, he turned into a side road without warning, dropping some speed to be able to move behind the Russian's car. He was going to lose these fucks whatever it took... That was more important than some stupid race.

If he could lure them into an alley, he could probably take them, but he'd much rather they went after his competitor.

 

Sasha continued to enjoy the excitement the race brought upon his coke-coated soul. He hasn't had this much fun in a while, and the stranger with the bike sure knew how to keep that fun going in the best way possible.

However, when the motorcyclist lowered the speed of his vehicle and started tailing the Son's car, Sasha remained excited, but rather confused at the same time. He took a look at his rear view mirror and spotted three rusty cars with a cheap, blue paintjob on them, speeding up and going after him, and most likely the biker, too.

"Ah, blin! Fuckin' graves at this hour? I thought I got rid of those lowlives a few months ago, guess not."

There was no time for planning. Sasha ditched the race as well and started steering his car haphazardly with zigzag movements here and there as well. He wasn't in the mood to fight any rival gang members at that point, so he hoped he could lose them if he tried to confuse the yellowblue gang members.

The gangsters were getting pretty fucking pissed, so two of the cars lowered their windows and had some young thugs poke their arms out of them and open fire upon the Russian and the motorcyclist with various pistols and submachine guns.

The Son knew the situation would be fatal, so he grabbed a grenade from the glove compartment, pulled the pin, counted to three, and threw it out the window at the hostile urban assailants. All he had to was wait for the big bang.

 

Biker had been spat back out onto the main road, where he was disappointed to discover the gang members remained. And now they were firing on them- if he'd known this part of the city was someone's turf, he would have invested in clearing them out first.

Or he would have, if that were still him. Now all he could really do was dodge the bullets and berate himself for having stayed behind to fuck around with the Russian.

The grenade rolled past him, and he spotted it just in time to yelp and accelerate, missing the blast area by a millimetre. He felt heat on his back as one of the cars blew up in the air, the other two skidding away in time to be spared.

Biker then knew he'd have much more trouble shaking them now that they'd been stirred up, although he secretly hoped for the focus to stay on the maniac he'd been racing.

Spotting an alleyway up ahead, he began inching towards it, until he was safely tucked at the back of it, waiting for the next safe moment.

Cars wouldn't be able to fit down it, but people sure would, so he mentally prepared himself to defend himself. Not that it would do him much good without guns.

 

The pink biker's quick thinking impressed Sasha quite a lot. Sure, he wasn't able to slide his car into the alleyway like his new acquaintance did with his motorcycle, but the Son could easily just park his automobile right next to it and get out just in time to grab his stash of firearms that were resting comfortably in the trunk.

And that's what he pretty much did - as the Gravestones continued to catapult their piercing bullets at Sasha, the man put the speed of his car to a halt and skidded right next to the alleyway, safely stopping on time before it hit a wall. When he got out, he took out a shuriken he was hiding in his pocket and precisely threw it at one of the enemy cars' tires, popping it and subsequently causing a distraction.

There was enough time for the Son to grab a light machine gun he's wanted to use for the right occasion and a modified tec-9 for the motorcyclist that would definitely please him. He ran towards the Biker down the alley and threw him the submachine gun. After doing so, he started putting a giant belt of ammo into his gargantuan automatic weapon, smiling wildly like a primal beast with his eyes spelling "bloodlust".

"Prepare yourself, pink man! A standoff is nigh! Hahaha!"

 

Biker's first instinct when seeing someone run at him was to put his fists up and run back, but he noticed just in time who it was that was joining him in the alley. In his sudden shock, he almost failed to catch the gun being thrown at him. What...?

"What the fuck is going on?" The question was genuine, not accusatory, as he sounded truly confused at the sudden assistance. "What are you doing here?"

As he heard voices at the end of the alley, he quickly tried to figure out the weapon he was holding. "You _lured them here!?"_

Groaning loudly, he aimed the submachine gun at the end of the alley, looking over to see the look of sheer glee on the Russian's face. This was no ordinary mobster.

"Just who the fuck are you...?"

He managed to fit in the question before opening mad fire on the men.

 

As the biker's bullets soared right past Sasha's head with them hitting local urban props such as dumpsters, barrels used for bonfires, garbage bags loaded with plastic dolls, and, of course, the brick walls, the Son continued to maniacally laugh and cheer loudly as chaos continued to ensue around him. He hasn't had this much fun in a while.

" **Ahahaha-haa!** Try to kill one of them, and I'll spill any beans you want!"

The Son could tell that the motorcyclist wasn't very experienced with firearms, for his accuracy was a little poor with most of the bullets going straight into the aforementioned objects rather than the incoming hostiles, but he didn't care that much about it. He knew that everyone eventually learns something new in their life, and besides, he was having too much fun to criticise whatever was going on.

However, before the Son could fire his weapon he deemed as mouth-watering, one of the Gravestones managed to shoot him in the left hand, almost costing him his ring finger.

Good lord, did that hurt like fucking hell. The Son let out an audible, painful groan after the bullet got him like that, but Sasha was too emotionally invested into this fight to give a proper shit about it, he had a huge scar on his face after all. His hand was bleeding, but he still had enough strength to hold the gun and aim it somewhat properly, even if his wounded hand was shaking a little bit, proving to be a liability.

Without any monologues, catchphrases or further ado, the Son squeezed the trigger with all of his might and sprayed the opposing gangsters with lots of lead that could feed an entire family for weeks. He didn't let go of the firing weapon as it continued to fire its projectiles at the motorcyclist's and the Russian's mutual enemies.

Each new shot filled the Son with joy only a man with a big gun could experience.

 

Biker shot the man a look of disdain, realizing the other wouldn't be able to see it from under his visor. Whatever. He'd never fired a gun before this moment, and was trying his best to keep a steady aim with an unfamiliar weapon. The rebound made it hard, though- hence all the pitiful missing. _Come on, you have better aim than this!_

He was shocked at how many of these fuckers kept pouring in. There had only been a few cars, god dammit. Taking a deep breath, he moved his head to the side to push his bangs over. Ah, now that helped a little...

The second he saw the man beside him get hurt, though, he swore. With his shitty aim and his accomplice down, he was a dead man for sure. Yet the Russian kept firing... It awoke something within him, causing him to take a deep breath, grip his weapon properly, and fire.

He very nearly blew the head off one of the men due to the accuracy of his shot. **Yes!** He wasn't about to let this whole thing go to shit due to his incompetence. Having steeled his nerves, he found it a lot easier to pick off the enemy.

Something about it didn't feel right, though, so he'd not be using a gun again if he could help it.

Once the last of the men hit the ground, he sighed deeply and let his shoulders droop. Turning to the other, he quickly asked for his hand.

"Let me see."

 

The violent and nearly critical battle lasted for about six minutes, but Sasha and his motorcyclist acquaintance managed to somehow survive the ordeal that interrupted their little drag race. Even if the prolonged gunfight lasted for that long, no cops were to be seen or heard in the nearby vicinity, but that's just Miami policemen for you.

The Son dropped his then-empty weapon on the ground with visible blood stains on the gun's magazine from the Son's bleeding hand wound. _Thud_. The drop itself was nearly as satisfying as firing the automatic instrument of doom, but it just wasn't the same as blowing off some guy's head right off his shoulder with three shots.

After the adrenaline faded away a little, the injury became more unbearable. Too unbearable. He was in dire need of some medical assistance. The Son moaned in quiet pain as he _handed_ over his hand to the motorcyclist. He probably knew one or two things about medicine and treating wounds, right?

 

Biker stared at the man as he witnessed him succumb to the pain of his injury. _Of course._ He'd have to be some sort of god to withstand pain that great once his heart rate went back to normal.   Holding his hand, he hissed before looking around for anything he could use. He hadn't brought his knives, dammit! He didn't think he would have had to use them to go down to the liquor store.

"Who keeps shooting with an injured hand?" Although he was being berating, he knew he wouldn't have survived if the man hadn't continued firing upon the gangsters. Of course, none of this would have happened at all if the Russian hadn't crashed into him...

Figuring his own shirt was already ripped as it was, he lifted his hoodie and aggressively tore off the bottom of the plain white tee, quickly tying the strip around the stranger's hand.

"This is temporary, you know that, right?  You gotta have it seen by someone."

Fuck, it was getting hard to breathe.

 

Even though the biker left a mixed impression on the Russian mobster, Sasha genuinely appreciated the fact that he'd rip a piece of his own shirt  and use it as an improvised tourniquet just so he could treat the Son's wound. The pain was **absolutely** intolerable, but the moment he was having with the motorcyclist made it more fun to remember for future stories. Hey, it even helped him to almost forget that his hand was heavily bleeding and leaving nice, red stains on the ground for cops to investigate.

"A-agh...! There's this guy I know, not too far away from here... You can drive cars, yes?"

The Son knew very well he wasn't in the right condition to operate any vehicles that required his hands, and he didn't particularly want to taint his cherished automobile with his blood cells, so asking for help was the most tactical thing he could do.

Sasha didn't enjoy doing that, since he likes to consider himself a Russian superman who can handle anything at any time, but Irina taught him that one can't always rely on themselves if they want to hop over certain obstacles, so backup was sometimes the best choice.

 

Biker tied off the bandage before registering the Russian's words. It was true they couldn't stay here, but for Biker to drive him somewhere? That was a little excessive, wasn't it? He wanted no further involvement with this maniac... Fun as the night had been.

Yet he couldn't just leave him there to bleed out; not after the stunt they'd just pulled. He let his shoulders slump as he accepted defeat. Leaning down to pick up the discarded weapon, he turned to look back at the stranger, whose name was still a mystery to him.

"I'd say my bike is faster, but fuck it, I'll just fucking cram it into the back of your car. It's big enough, right?"

Huffing, he began to push it along, weapons tucked under his arms. This was almost an impossible feat... He occasionally looked back to see if the man was following- but he knew he had to be.

"Give me the directions as I drive, and don't fucking die until you've told me who you are."

Maneuvering around the bodies, he eventually reached the Pontiac, throwing the back door open and cramming his motorcycle in there by any means possible. After a struggle, he threw the guns in the back seat and _finally_ removed his helmet.

It felt good to breathe...

 

Sasha carefully followed the motorcyclist as he was hauling the empty weapons _and_ his bike to the Son's fancy and surprisingly big enough car that had enough space for both the two-wheeled vehicle along with the firearms. And the pink man of biking didn't even break much of a sweat when he did that.

God damn was the biker strong as hell; his arms along with his biceps were confident in showing themselves off to anyone who could see them. The Russian mob king truly enjoyed the sight of physically powerful men whenever he had the chance to see some, and since one was helping him out in his minor, but nonetheless personal time of need, he couldn't help but to feel... a little jolly about it.

After the biker threw the equipment into the back of the Son's car and took off his steamy helmet, Sasha silently gazed upon the motorcyclist's luscious, shiny, cyan hair that appeared before his eyes. And not to mention the biker's face. It was a face one would never easily forget - masculine, strong, but at the same time gentle, too. There was a story hidden behind that facial expression of his, and the Son was eager to find out about it some day.

Sasha then realised there was something special about the pink stranger. He couldn't quite put his finger on it what it was, but the Son knew that he'd be quite fun to unravel over time.

After the Russian sat down in his car right next to the good-looking stranger, he watched his hand lest it bled too much and cooperated with the biker in terms of addresses.

"Go down the road until you reach Little Moscow, and look out for a small, red pharmacy with a cartoon Lenin on it. Augh!" - he painfully moaned mid-sentence. - "And my name's Alexandr, but to you and everyone else, I'm just Sasha. Pleasure's mine."

 

Biker's helmet was now neatly beside the guns, crammed in the back of the car. He'd really put everything in there at an impossible angle... Getting reacquainted with cars was taking him some time- time he didn't have, so he decided to wing it, start the engine aggressively, and get the hell out of Dodge.

Now without his helmet obscuring his surroundings, he was able to fully appreciate both the vehicle and its owner. Yes, this man didn't look much older than him, yet he seemed a lot more important than any other mobster he'd encountered. Something about those crazed green eyes haunted him, too. Like he was _supposed_ to follow him around and do his bidding. It was spooky.

Biker scoffed as he zipped down the street. _Lenin?_ They'd drawn fucking _Lenin_ on a pharmacy and expected not to be assaulted? Actually, how come it was still standing? Perhaps the mafia's influence reached further than he thought.

"Sasha, huh." Finally a name. He figured he'd keep the ball rolling, if only to make sure the guy didn't pass out. "I just go by Biker. Simple, clean..."

That sounded absurd, but it was true. He was also wary of giving away his personal details, especially to a Russian. "All things considered, you have a pretty neat ride. Been with the mafia for long?"

 

While Sasha was riding shotgun next to the motorcyclist, his hand continued to bleed heavily despite the best efforts of the cheap bandage. He was slowly on his way of losing complete conscience, but the Son's willpower kept him awake & alert lest his new acquaintance missed the designated pharmacy they were both looking for. He didn't want to pass out and have the pink man spin around in circles until he completely bled out, even if the Son's description of the apotheke was completely clear.

But damn. Biker. Sasha obviously knew that the motorcyclist had an actual name, but he understood that not everybody likes to reveal their actual identity to literally everyone they meet. It's generally not a wise choice, but Sasha felt comfortable revealing his thanks to his status as a feared Russian mob leader.

"Ugh... I like your codename, it's fitting... and, da, I've been in this organisation ever since the day I left my mother's womb..." - the pains distracted him from going on, but he didn't want to succumb to them at all - "... Not planning on giving up anytime soon."

 

Biker was determined not to let this Sasha fellow bite the dust. Who knew? Maybe he'd get compensation at the end of the whole ordeal... Now, he usually didn't do things for the money, but after abandoning most of his belongings and planning to flee, he figured he needed as much pocket change as he could carry. Speeding down the street as he was, he kept a sharp eye out for their destination. Any minute now... Best to keep the convo going.

"That long, huh?" Alarm bells were starting to go off in his head about this guy, but he bit his lip to keep them quiet. "That's some serious dedication to the craft."

Smiling slightly at the approval towards his nickname, Biker kept the ball rolling, even though it was against his better judgement.

"So you must feel pretty bummed out about all those killings, huh..."

_Stay awake, Sasha. We're almost there. Then this small talk will all be over..._

Sasha's vision by that point was still relatively clear, but it was becoming slightly more blurry with each passing minute. He could thankfully still hear Biker's voice and comprehend his words that were coming out of his mouth ~~along with those juicy lips of his~~ , but he internally feared that they'd become hard to understand sometime soon as well. No matter, he had faith that wasn't the end for him.

"Yes... I always regret hearing about new raids on my Russian headquarters... A lot of my men are dead because of those attacks, but I discipline them to keep going... or else we'll turn into more mush... Augh, blyad!"

The subtle hint sort of revealed that he was more than just a mobster, but Sasha was in too much pain to notice. The Son only wanted to get a grip on reality again, and properly repay the Biker.

 

Biker could see what appeared to be a pharmacy in the near distance, and he sighed softly to himself, running a final red light (this was becoming a theme) as he tried his best to reach their destination before these nice leather seats turned red. He wouldn't enjoy his drink as much that night if he failed such a simple task.

"Oh yeah, I can imagine- wait. _Your_ men!?"

Bringing the car to a screeching halt, Biker began to connect the dots. That's why everything felt wrong! That's why this man felt important!

"You're Lebedev number three!? Oh, fuck, man, shit..." Would he be aiding the country if he left the Russian mafia without their leader, or would he be putting an even bigger bounty on his own head? He'd already betrayed one group of wackjobs; he really didn't need another on his ass.

And somehow, for a reason he didn't quite understand, he'd feel his skin crawl if he just let the man die. Perhaps the alley stunt...

Pulling the doors open, he hauled Sasha out of the car and practically shoved him into the building.

 

Sasha could feel that he was being carried by his new acquaintance, but he could hardly tell what exactly was going on around him while he was being dragged inside the small pharmacy. The people who worked there were all Russian (surprise), so they would naturally treat any Russian mob member, too. Especially since they got funded by the mafia in exchange for protection. Hence why no one could see a single piece of graffiti on the building, or even a spit stain.

A dark-blue-haired nurse in the hallway audibly gasped when she saw a half-conscious Sasha being carried by an unknown man. She knew of him, mostly because of the hair, so she ran towards the Biker and immediately started raining questions upon him.

"Боже мой, он в порядке? Что случилось! (Oh my God, is he okay? What happened!)"

Sasha's blood continued to drip on the shiny, polished floor. Hope nobody slipped on it after his visit.

 

Biker began to panic the second he was inside the pharmacy. He'd known there would be Russians, but he didn't expect them not to speak any English... Maybe they thought he was Russian, too? He needed to take deep breaths... The fear gripping at his chest was starting to make Sasha feel heavy. Steeling himself and trying not to focus too hard on his environment, he looked directly into the eyes of the nurse and rationalized what she may be trying to tell him.

Questions... He was being questioned, and it made him form questions of his own. Was she new? Did she know him? Was this a family owned business? Did they think he'd done it?

"He got shot. There's no time to ask for details. Fucked up his hand, I tied it up, it's up to you now. Before he passes out completely would be nice."

He wanted to put the mob boss down, but he knew the man would get nowhere on his own.

 

The lady thankfully knew a little bit of English since she lived in an English-speaking city, after all. She could make out what Biker said about Sasha being shot, also because she could see the bullet hole in the Son's hand. She was too panicked to ask anymore questions, so the nurse did not waste any time at all and yelled for immediate medical attention. The clinic did not have an emergency room like a regular hospital would, but since it wasn't that large and the hallways weren't crowded with patients, her screams for assistance bounced and ricocheted on the walls and were able to alert every available doctor who could provide help.

The atmosphere got more more tense as a bunch of medics started storming at Biker and quickly took Sasha out of his arms without saying anything. They escorted him to a nearby office and began to examine the damage. The nurse then looked at the motorcyclist and politely told him to wait.

"Wait here, please, sir. Yes?" - she smiled, nervously.

 

Biker had forgotten how to react to people running at him in any way that weren't totally aggressive, so it was a good thing his hands were occupied or he'd jeopardize the whole situation. Still, his heart rate spiked and he felt his eyes widen. He very nearly turned to run, still holding Sasha in his arms. It was a good thing he froze up instead, allowing the doctors to take the injured man away. _A job well done_ , he would have thought, if he hadn't experienced a momentary shutdown.

Feeling the weight be taken off him, he began to regain his senses, and was quick to engage with the nurse now speaking to him. She seemed to have calmed down... That was good. He'd do the same, then. Let his guard down, just for a split second. Obviously they wouldn't believe him to have done it, right? Why would he have brought Sasha in if he had?

"...Right."

Biker didn't _want_ to stay, of course. He wanted to jump onto his motorcycle and drive far away from the clinic, but that was out of the question. He had to see this through.

 

  _An hour or so passes after Sasha was taken into the emergency room._

 

Nothing new or exciting has happened since then. The moment the Son was escorted by the medical experts to get inspected for any critical wounds, the halls became silent with the nearly-senile janitor coming in to mop up the stains Sasha had left on the floor.

At some point, he appeared out of the metaphorical mist and greeted the motorcyclist with heavy bandages wrapped all over his damaged hand. So, of course that meant that it couldn't be properly used for some time.

"Hey, hey, I didn't expect I'd see you here, pink man. What kept you in?"

 

Biker had fallen asleep in the waiting room, sitting up. He'd been concerning himself with thoughts of what he'd just done, who he'd just _saved_.

All that time he'd pissed away killing Russians for those clowns only to end up rescuing their leader. It was unforeseen.

It was also deeply troubling. He didn't feel **guilty** , exactly, but he felt conflicted. Like he shouldn't be around this man. Shouldn't be helping him. Shouldn't be socializing.

The voice of the troubling man in question rose him from his slumber, and all the worrying returned.

"...Tiredness."

 

Despite Biker's simple answer, Sasha was nonetheless feeling rather confused about his presence in the Russian clinic. After all, they were two strangers who just got acquainted with each other, so the motorcyclist could've just easily left the establishment and head straight home to his comfortable bed, or pretty much anywhere that was far away from the Son.

But he didn't, so that filled Sasha's head with curiosity galore. The motorcyclist definitely had something in mind, and Sasha was eager to find out.

"So, you decided to rest here? I mean, the hallways here are pretty quiet even during the day, but wouldn't you rather return to your humble abode?"

 

Biker resisted the urge to roll his eyes, settling for a long exhale instead. _Humble abode?_ Biker had a kickass apartment! Well... **had** was right. With everything being cleared out, it was pretty barebones...

But Sasha had no way of knowing that, and that's what pissed Biker off. The arrogance!!

He had to remember, of course, that this man was the leader of a powerful organization. Of course he thought he was hot shit.

"Listen, man. The nurse told me to wait here, I expected some kind of progress report, got none and passed out. There's nothing more to the story."

 

Attitude, much? All Sasha did was ask Biker a simple question, so he wasn't quite prepared for the annoyed tone he received from him. It didn't irk the Son much, though, because Sasha was already used to Americans being hostile whenever he hits the scene, despite him being a feared leader who's been known to do horrible things to those who messed with him.

Who knows, maybe the motorcyclist wasn't in the mood; who would be after such an adrenaline-inducing chain of events?

Sasha's focus was shifted directly at Biker's visible eye to signify that he was being serious.

"She did, huh? Well, there's nothing of interest to share. The doctors extracted the metal and put it in the trash. Then, uh, the wrapping happened, as you can see, so now I can't drive for shit."

 

"So I expect you want me to drive you home."

Biker's tone was more tired than anything else. He hadn't been able to pick up his booze, he'd nearly been the victim of a hit and run, he'd helped the man who would undoubtedly kill him when he found out what he'd done...

Yet he had no desire to return to his sad little apartment. He hated being there now that it was bare... he hated the anxiety that came with being in it, too.

Sighing again, he rubbed at his face and tried his best to ignore the fact he was speaking to a mafia man.

"Tonight was fun."

 

Despite Sasha's obvious injuries and temporary ability to operate vehicles, he still didn't want to ask for assistance to be driven home by his new acquaintance. His status as the head of the Russian mafia needed to be upheld, and requesting for help from a semi-stranger would've spoiled his reputation and lead to people asking a lot of questions.

But, the Son felt pretty calm with Biker. There was something special about him that didn't aggravate the Russian man, so he wouldn't have minded getting escorted by him to his main headquarters.

It was quite the fun night, indeed.

"You don't really have to, pink man. I may not be able to drive, but I can handle the grip of the steering wheel. Somewhat."

 

Biker sat on his next words, as he tended to do. He understood, on one hand, why the man would refuse help. He was a proud creature, Biker could tell that much from what little time they'd spent together. On the other hand, he didn't see why there would be an issue, considering Biker had driven him all the way here...

Personally, he didn't want to spend a second around the man longer than he had to, worried the truth would rear its ugly head and put him in an uncomfortable situation, but he felt he'd come too far into this mess to back out now.

That was always the case with him when it came to one night stands...

Chuckling, he folded his arms before getting up, cracking his neck to relieve the tension of sitting in a chair.

"I'm gonna call bullshit on that. Come on, I'll get you home."


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> oh shit this is where it all really starts  
> half of it written by my boyfriend once again

"Wait... are you sure?"

Sasha didn't expect the blue-haired man to be willing to drive the mobster back to his headquarters. Especially after he had to accompany him in a shootout and quickly transport his bleeding ass to the clinic before the Son kicked the bucket. Most individuals would be too shook to even talk to him after such events, but Biker's tranquil take on these events that occurred really pleased Sasha from within in a certain kind of way.

A way that he would certainly remember for a long time.

 

Biker was sure. Once he made up his mind, it was very hard to make him change it again. The sooner he got the guy home, the sooner he'd feel like he'd done one thing right that day, and the sooner he could go back to his sad, shitty, fishless apartment...

Smirking, he jerked his head towards the entrance and made his way outside, hoping (or, well, knowing) the man would follow.

Once he was in a more secure environment, he'd get the bike out of the back of the car, hopefully in one piece, and ride off.

 

The Son understood that the motorcyclist hinted him to follow his lead, and so Sasha did. Both of their time at the clinic was done anyway, so all they had to do was walk to the Russian's flashy automobile and get ready to get their asses away from the medical vicinity.

All of that was done in silence, for the two gentlemen (especially the long-haired mobster) had nothing else to share to each other. Nonetheless, that didn't change the fact that Sasha still felt pretty impressed with his new acquaintance's performance that day, having seen him take out those opposing gang members with relevant ease, handling the wheel under pressure, and yet somehow remaining his cool despite everything.

He was quite the man, that was for sure.

Sasha got into his car and sat in the passenger seat again and grabbed one of his favourite cassette tapes for the ride back home. That tape was, of course, "Amos Moses" by Jerry Reed. And yes, even a pure Russian like him could enjoy a nice 'merican tune every now and then.

 

Biker, getting comfortable in the driver's seat, raised an eyebrow at the choice in music, but said nothing. Heavy synth and powerful basslines were more his thing, but it wasn't like he'd been expecting _babushka tunes_ either.

Besides, he had to admit that the guitar was pretty sick. Before he knew it, a small smile was tugging at his lips.

"Tell me where to go," he spoke over the music, not bothering to turn it down.

Hopefully those words wouldn't be enough to keep a conversation going. He didn't have much to say- or rather, he had little desire to say it. He was playing the night's events back and forth in his head.

The disbelief over helping **this** particular man was somewhat fading as he accepted he'd fallen as low as he could go, but he still couldn't believe they'd fought together. And been somewhat good at it! It felt surreal.

 

Surreal atmosphere or not, Sasha hadn't felt that satisfied in a _long_ time. The thrill of meeting someone new and nearly dying because of it rarely happens even to an adrenaline junkie such as himself, so the Son thought that every second was worth being cherished with his new friend. The music, the vibe, the upcoming happy ending to such a great day - everything felt sweet.

Sasha almost couldn't hear what Biker asked him since he was about to space out, so he quickly formed a sentence in his head and emitted it out through his mouth.

"Oh, uh, look for the black skyscraper in Downtown Miami. I'm sure you'll be able to recognise it if you spot one of my men on patrol duty."

The Russian knew his description was a bit vague, but hey, at least that meant he'd get to spend more time with the motorcyclist if he got lost along the way.

 

Biker could work with that. Sure, there were a fair few buildings like that in Miami, but he knew he'd be able to find the right one. Especially if whitecoats were wandering about.

The reminder of those uniforms torn and bloodied coursed through his memory, causing a very vague chill to run up his arms. He cast a glance over to his passenger, seeing the same uniform on him, and shook his head just enough to calm himself.

 _This is different_ , he told himself. _This is just a short adventure. You remember having those, right?_

A slight feeling of displacement hung over him, and he gripped the steering wheel just a bit tighter. The music helped distract him, though.

Speeding as much as he could, he kept his eyes peeled for any such building once they reached downtown.

 

Sasha thought that riding with his temporary pseudo-chauffeur was a rather calm experience, actually. Listening to upbeat music with him and watching the buildings go by gave the Son that feeling one receives when they sense that everything seems alright. It felt like the beginning of a new status quo that would bring the two together and keep the universe in balance.

And Sasha liked that.

When the Son spotted his headquarters in the distance, he raised his wrapped arm and pointed towards it, signalling Biker to head right over there.

"And there she blows. I'll tell my men to not give you any guff upon arrival, so don't worry about that."

Most of Sasha's men were loyal to the bone, so of course they would behave in a vigilant way if they were to spot an unfamiliar face in the HQ's premises. The Son knew how to tame them if that ever happened, though, so he had it already under control.

 

Biker allowed the upbeat tunes to soothe him as he pulled up to the building, looking over at his passenger for a moment to gauge his reaction. Despite the feeling of displacement, something about the patched-up Russian man chilling beside him made him want to smile.  
It felt almost like friendship. A ridiculous notion, of course, and one he wasn't keen to entertain, but he'd made friends with far more boring people.

He'd forgotten that driving a car could be nice, too. He far preferred the bike, but he could get used to this every now and again. _A night full of firsts,_ he thought. _Driving a car for more than ten minutes and helping out a commie._

Sasha's words made him jolt, causing him to grip the steering wheel again. He had to relax... These men wouldn't remember him. Nobody would. Nobody _could._

"I should fuckin' hope they wouldn't," he replied, the slightest hint of a scowl on his face, "I did save your ass, after all."

Parking the Firebird, he took a second to breathe before exiting the vehicle, not bothering to open the door for the man (it wasn't a habit!). Instead, he began to work on getting his bike out of the vehicle. How had he managed to cram it in?

"I'll see you around, yeah?" He called over his shoulder. He doubted they would cross paths again, but it didn't seem right to say goodbye permanently to the guy, despite who he was.

 

"Hey, wait! Don't you want to come over and take a look at my place for a second? The least I could get you for saving my ass is a cup of coffee."

Sasha wasn't kidding when he emitted those inviting words out of his mouth. He felt that allowing the man who practically _did_ save his life by assisting him in a gunfight and rushing the Son to the hospital to simply walk away like that wasn't the right thing to do at all. The Son was a proud creature, no doubt, but he knew how to repay his debts of gratitude, and the blue-haired motorcyclist wasn't an exception.

"I promise I'll make it worth your while, pink man." - he said whilst getting out of his automobile and minding his step. Sasha really didn't want the curb to be an offender to his foot.

 

Huffing and heaving the bike out of the back, he was surprised to hear the man inviting him to _stay_. He'd never played the hero before, so maybe that's how it always was. He wasn't a big fan of coffee, but he had been wanting a drink... Looking back over his shoulder, he did a shit job at disguising his pensive expression.

Russian HQ... the last place he ever wanted to be. If just being outside the building was making him feel antsy, he didn't want to think of how he'd feel inside it. But wouldn't it be suspicious- no, _disrespectful_ to turn down the mob boss's request? It was an act of gratitude, not a trap.

He couldn't just turn tail and run away. He had to stop being so paranoid...

Finally managing to retrieve his bike and promptly propping it up beside the car, he shrugged- hoping he wouldn't immediately regret this decision.

"Sure, yeah. I can have a drink..."

Something about making it worth his while made his hair stand on end. What was with this guy?

 

"Great! I guarantee you there won't be any trouble there once we enter the building. Only relaxing times await us!"

Things began to progress nicely once Biker accepted Sasha's invitation for the two blokes to have a relaxing time together at the Russian HQ. It was a well-known fact that not everyone managed to get a chance to access the Russian mafia's base of operations unless they were granted permission to enter by the head of the organisation, i.e. the Son, so the blue-haired motorcyclist had quite the opportunity on his hands.

Feeling pleased about Biker agreeing to his proposal, the Son smiled in a charismatic kind of way after he got out of the Firebird and locked the doors with the power of his transponder car key. Sasha thought it was even a little exciting that he was going to get to know this new acquaintance of his a little better.

Sasha led the way to the the tall building, gesticulating to his men that everything is alright and that his guest was clear for entrance. The Son's henchmen found it a bit concerning how their boss returned after his nightly drift around town with bandages covering one of his hands and a mysterious guest following him, but Sasha wasn't going to allow them to cause any discomfort at all. In fact, he was more than ready to scold them if they even dared to question was going on.

 

Biker followed behind his new acquaintance with a slight degree of hesitation, yet in no moment did he let his stride falter. The last thing he could afford to do here was show weakness and make himself a suspect. He could feel the many eyes crawling on him already (after all those who had been killed, there were still more?), yet he paid them no mind. Even if his skin burned and his body told him to flee, he kept his eyes forward.

The Son's words soothed him, yet he still preferred to keep to himself. Until, of course, he was making it up the stairs and towards what was hopefully a more private area. Then and only then did he look over his shoulder, locking eyes with the first mobster he could see.

He held his gaze for a few seconds before continuing on his way, unsure of what he was trying to achieve. To intimidate? Hopefully whatever it was wouldn't make things worse.

"Nice place," he ventured to say- and it was, if you could look past all the patriotism.

 

Yes, it's true that the Son's base of operations was heavily decorated to pay homage to the things that defined the meaning of "entrance" - the USSR flag, a gratuitous amount of alcohol, the faint smell of a cadaver, et cetera.

Either way, Sasha was pleased with the way things were going and was nice with the way the event was advancing. The Son really wanted to have Biker and himself relax after a long and exciting day spent together, so that upbeat idea in mind helped Sasha deal with security and any other henchman that stared at him and his guest funny with a smile on his face. He didn't allow anything to ruin his mood, and he was good at keeping that promise to himself.

"Why, thank you. I'm sure you might prefer to see my office and living quarters more, though."

And that's where they were heading exactly when they got into the shiny elevator. The muzak was quiet and soothing, chosen by the best muzak connoisseurs.

 

Biker was no stranger to patriotism. After all, how else would he have gotten himself in such an absurd mess? No, it wasn't a foreign entity to him- yet he himself wasn't patriotic in the slightest. He just _didn't care enough_ to be. That, somehow, made his reason for joining the Blessings all the more ridiculous. At least if he were a damn fascist he could have put some pride into his work. No- boredom was hardly an excuse to take a human life.

It didn't matter now, though, and the best thing he could do was to forget all about it, lest he let some of it slip out during the night. He'd leave well before he had the chance to, of course; a drink or two and he'd be on his way.

Raising a slight eyebrow at the man beside him, he put a hand in his pocket before stepping into the elevator, hardly registering its condition. He was too perplexed.

"You want to show me your room."

 _Of course_ it wasn't a question, it was mere disbelief. He didn't show anyone his room unless he was hoping to score, and he seriously doubted that was where this night was going. This man was probably the last person on Earth he'd consider sleeping with.

Second last.

It wasn't that the man was unattractive (and hey, power is sexy, right?), but forming any sort of relationship with him seemed like a very stupid idea.

 

"Yeah, why not? I figured that letting your guests get a better feel of the place is one of the most hospitable things you can do. Getting oriented around the unfamiliar is a good thing in general, anyway, don't you think?"

Sasha rarely behaved so nicely to most outsiders. In fact, he would usually ignore anyone who didn't matter to him and would treat those he accidentally shot or maimed as collateral damage. Biker was different, though; he had a special kind of flair within him that invoked the Son to treat him nicely in his own kind of way, especially on that ongoing day.

After the elevator got to the highest floor, the doors opened slowly, presenting to the motorcyclist a hallway that was filled with more Soviet decor, marble busts on pedestals, circus paintings, and henchmen walking about as they guarded the floor and enjoyed their afternoon snacks. The snack bars on every floor kept the morale pretty high, believe it or not.

Sasha continued to guide the motorcyclist around his place, showing him off the surroundings until they eventually reached the Russian's office. It was wide, spacious, neatly organised, and it even had a gargantuan fish tank in the middle with a live shark in it, calmly swimming around as it pleased.

It was Sasha's pride and joy, and he cared for that Shark like it was his own son.

 

"I figured we'd just go to your office and have a drink, didn't think you'd treat me like some long lost family member or business partner, I mean..." _I'm just some guy,_ he wanted to say, but then he remembered.

He'd saved this man's skin. Biker doubted Sasha would have died from his injury, but he'd been unable to keep his eyes open, so who knew? That aside, helping him out in the alleyway had most likely guaranteed his survival. Maybe there was some sort of honor code the guy had to adhere to, making him extra hospitable to the stranger who waited in the clinic to see how he got on.

Yeah, on second thought, Biker deserved this treatment. Why was it that a literal crime boss was treating him better than most? Ridiculous.

Yet again avoiding eye contact with the men, Biker studied his surroundings, considering them to be somewhat gaudy (he was one to talk) yet unsurprisingly well kept. These men had their pride; they liked looking clean, which was why it was somewhat amusing that their boss would sport a messy ponytail. Man, he wanted a snack...

When they finally reached the office, Biker's eye honed in on the only thing that mattered to him at that moment in time: the fish tank. One half of him screamed 'no, free him!', and the other half was a bubbly mess of mush.

Fuck, he loved marine life- yet he wouldn't let it show. The less Sasha knew about him, the better. That's how he approached everything.

"Hey, that's badass," he admitted, nodding at the tank. "Mind if I take a closer look?"

 

"I honestly just wanted to show you around this place, it's the least I could do for you lending me a hand. earlier. And what, you mean Lionel? Go ahead! He always loves some extra company."

Sasha is glad that Biker didn't notice or mind the tiny bit of blood that was on the rug when the blue-haired motorcyclist decided to enter the Russian's office. There was a violent interrogation that took place there a few nights ago that led to the one getting interrogated to get placed on a hanging meat hook, thus becoming an improvised punching bag. A punching bag Sasha gladly used to beat the shit out of, naturally.

Good thing the shark was always able to distract anyone from pretty much anything, though. It definitely kept the long-haired Sasha calm to some extent.

"So, would you like some coffee, like I offered, or would you rather have some spirits? The choice is yours."

 

Biker didn't think twice before stepping forward to approach the tank, a little smile on his face as the glow from it illuminated his surroundings.

 _Lionel..._ Something in the way Sasha pronounced the name made Biker chuckle (internally, of course.) Putting a hand on the tank, he bent over a bit to get a better look at its resident. To him, the animal was hardly intimidating; it seemed oddly happy despite its predicament and had a face he could only class as gentle... But maybe that was the fish boy in him talking.

Truth be told, Biker would have been ashamed not to have noticed the blood, yet at the same time he would have not been at all surprised to see it there. He knew who he was keeping company, after all.

Relieved he was given a choice, he tore away from Lionel to face his host, eyebrow raised.

"Booze, man. Coffee's for the morning." He was still jonesing for schnapps, but would settle for anything.

 

Coffee's for the morning? Sasha would settle for a caffeine rush whenever he had the chance, no matter what time it was. If it increased his heartbeat nicely, then it was ideal for the Russian adrenaline junkie. But, the Son's guest wanted an alcoholic beverage to seal the deal, and Sasha was more than happy to oblige.

"Booze it is, then. Do you have any specific poison in mind?"

Sasha had a polished, fancy-looking alcohol cabinet in the corner of his office that would've made members of an AA meeting shit themselves. It was loaded to the brim with spirits of all kind; be it good, old-fashioned vodka, Kahlua, 20-year-old scotch, armagnac, etc.

The Son knew everyone had different tastes alcohol-wise, hence why he had such a broad selection of quality booze that would satisfy nearly anyone who lusted for a drink while they were in his room. Or, alternatively, the Son would snatch a few bottles on special nights and get heavily intoxicated like there was no tomorrow. Anything to kill the time.

 

Biker wasn't such a big fan of bitter things. Coffee gave him the kick he might need after a long night of partying, but the aftertaste wasn't one he would write home about. Besides, he'd meant to get drunk tonight, and he wouldn't be satisfied unless he was at least a little tipsy.

"Yeah, you got any schnapps?"

He was _waiting_ for Sasha to laugh and call it a girly drink. He didn't care. He knew what he was about; in the event the man didn't have it, he'd settle for anything.

Judging by the size of what appeared to be the liquor cabinet, though, he may just be in luck. Jesus, the guy knew how to entertain guests.

Or maybe he just really fucking loved to drink.

 

If schnapps is what Biker wanted, then schnapps is what Biker would receive. Sasha smiled and nodded at the blue-haired motorcyclist when he asked the Son if he had that particular type of alcohol in store; at least he was sure he had some on the bottom row somewhere. Even if there wasn't any, Sasha decided to take a look in the alcohol cabinet nonetheless, hoping there would be something that he could work with.

"Schnapps... schnapps... ah, there we go! You're in luck, pink man, but I only have one bottle of schnapps that's apricot-flavoured. You don't mind that, right?"

After Sasha let out those words out of his mouth, he grabbed himself a bottle of cognac and two glasses for the Miami gentlemen to use. The Son wanted his guest to feel as comfortable as possible in this new-for-him vicinity, which is why he asked him those questions to keep things as relaxed as possible.

 

It seemed the cabinet really _did_ have it all. A smile tugging at his lips, Biker took a half-step away from Lionel's tank- it was hard for him to not be completely obvious about his love for the creature. The recent loss of all his fish wasn't helping the matter at all, but he had the feeling gawking over someone's pet wasn't how proper first impressions were made.  
If he ever found himself here again, maybe he'd be able to properly fawn over the shark. But for now, it was time to drink and fuck off.

"Apricot's good," he folded his arms, shifting his weight from one foot to the other as he felt his guard lower just the slightest bit- he couldn't afford that. "But the name's Biker."

It was the only suitable identity he could give the man, even if he was currently being perfectly hospitable. He couldn't afford to forget who he was.  
As he waited for his drink to be brought over, he figured he'd remind himself, if only to make conversation before he was able to leave.

"So... What's it like? Being you."

 

"And I presume you like to ride motorbikes? Hehehe."

Sasha allowed himself to make bad jokes once in awhile, but it was all in good fun. He was pleased with the fact that Biker was down to sip on the kind of schnapps the Son had with him that time, so Sasha poured the apricot-flavoured liquor into his guest's glass. Upon doing that, Sasha left the bottle on the table if Biker wanted to refill his glass, or if he felt like guzzling down the alcoholic beverage entirely. The blue-haired motorcyclist was free to do whatever he wanted, Sasha only offered him options.

After the Son gave the glass of schnapps to his guest and poured himself a little bit of cognac, he looked at Biker with a curious expression on his face after he asked him that question. A question he never really thought anyone would ask him, but he felt like responding to it regardless.

"Hm? Well, I don't know what exactly there is to say about my profession as the head honcho of the most prominent mafia organization in Miami, but it's manageable if you've got the patience and determination to lead a lot of frail, but loyal warriors into battle and teach them the correct kind of demeanor that'll keep them strong in any situation."

...

"That, and lots of recreational substances, of course!"

 

"No, I just like the look. Haven't been on a motorcycle in my life."

The mobster's sense of humor wasn't lost on Biker, even though usually by now he'd be scowling and grumbling- for a second things went back to how they were before, how he was before making the stupidest decision of his life.  
Taking the glass with a nod of gratitude, he put it to his lips almost instantly, letting it linger there for a moment before taking an actual sip. He wanted to savor the moment, he'd worked hard for it!

Shifting his weight again after licking his lips, he wondered if they were going to remain standing throughout the exchange. That was fine with him, as it would mean he wouldn't get too comfortable. It would also make him look weak to ask to sit down. Relaxing his shoulders in satisfaction, he looked down at his glass before looking back at his host.

The cocky tone in Sasha's response was picked up on almost instantly, and he couldn't conceal a smirk. _Proud, as expected._ He was about to crack a wise-ass comment when he was mentally interrupted by the man's choice of words.

Frail but loyal.

He knew that better than Sasha would like.

Smirk turning momentarily bitter, he knocked back his drink before raising an eyebrow.

"So you own the streets, huh." _Then how come you patrol them alone?_ "You talking coke, I bet."

 

Biker instantly taking a sip upon receiving his drink without clinking his glass with Sasha's felt a bit weird to the Russian, for he was used to people usually doing that before commencing the alcohol consumption. But then again, Sasha had a feeling that the motorcyclist really just needed a drink that was stiff enough to help him numb himself a little bit after going through a bunch of adrenaline-inducing events.

The Son knew very well how that feeling can be like, which is why he didn't say a thing or express any confusion on his face. He simply just took a sip and sat down on his fancy, comfortable couch to enjoy the drink even more. He didn't mind if his guest didn't want to sit or not; Sasha believed that everyone had the right to choose their own fate, no matter how mundane.

Biker keeping the conversation going (albeit with nosy questions) pleased Sasha a little bit, though. Saved him the power of interviewing his guest instead.

"Drug trafficking is only a teeny part of the whole plan, man of the bikes. Sure, it keeps the place stable, puts bread on the table, but it's not the only thing we do around here, you know."

 

The man was here for a drink, little more. He had little concept of manners as it was, and this kept him from realizing how rude it had been not to clink glasses with his host. Perhaps under different circumstances...  
The sweetness of the apricot was addictive, and he found himself tipping the glass a bit too far to see if he could savor any more of it. Glancing down at the table, he nearly reached for the bottle before reconsidering, asking himself if he really wanted to risk getting buzzed so soon.  
Playing this off as him merely wanting to put his hand in his pocket, his eye fell on Sasha anew.

Despite seeing his host sit down, Biker was adamant in not getting comfortable here, even if he wished he could spend some more time around the shark.  
He risked looking standoffish, but it was of no concern to him. After all, tonight had been a one-off...

Snorting softly, Biker genuinely found amusement in what Sasha was saying. He already knew what the mafia did, and his statement about drugs had been intended to be personal- but this answer was good. Seeing men think they could rule the world was entertaining, at least.

"Well, man of the _knock people off_ the bikes, I'm sure everything else you do is crazy exciting and not at all illegal."

Smirk from before returning, he only vaguely wondered if he was getting too much of an attitude.

"How much of what you do is actually _you_ doing it?"

 

It took Sasha a second or two to realise that the main reason why Biker had been standing up for awhile next to the gargantuan fish tank was because he was interested in looking at Lionel floating around peacefully. Despite his quick glances and tiny, subtle movements that might've fooled the average Joe, the Son was able to tell that the motorcyclist was genuinely fascinated by marine life in general, hence why he seemed more comfortable standing up next to the shark rather than the fear-inducing Russian mobster. Sasha didn't really mind it, though, for they were already drinking anyway, so it didn't really matter where his guest was standing.

The Son wanted to ask Biker about that fascination some time in the future if that topic ever came up.

Biker's questions kept on coming and coming, though, didn't they? Sasha had nothing saucy to hide, so he simply smirked and took another small sip of his drink, keeping it in his mouth for a little while to savour the taste. Afterwards, he looked at Lionel's new friend again and calmly replied to his curiousity.

"Heheheh, well, it all depends on what you deem as "crazy exciting". But to answer your question - I am the one whose tasks include running most of the business. Management, P.R., keeping the pigs off our asses, you name it. Some of my men handle the smaller branches in the city, but almost all of them are enforcers who try their best."

Sasha's facial expression then became a little somber.

"It's just a shame that they keep getting killed by these fucking vigilantes, though."

 

Maybe Biker was being too nosy in his attempts at keeping the conversation going. Maybe he was too confident that keeping the spotlight off himself wouldn't lead to questioning. Maybe he should give up on having a second drink and leave, which would be by far the wisest thing to do. Put the glass down, retrieve his helmet from the car, and get the hell out of Dodge.  
Yet something about the situation made him feel something he'd forgotten all about once the paranoia had set in- _excitement._

Sparingly glancing over at Lionel without the slightest suspicion Sasha might be picking up on his fascination, he tried to keep himself in line and **not** start playing with fire. He had to think his words through before he spoke them, despite how tempting it suddenly seemed to be cocky. It had been too long since he'd properly hung out with someone else, and although barely, it still counted.

The confidence with which the man carried himself was overwhelming. How could he sit there all proud, with those bright eyes, when his entire family had been wiped out by a single man in a mask? Didn't he know he was just as likely to suffer the same fate? Or was there actually more to him than there had been to his father? From what Biker could see, Sasha was quick to react and skilled with guns, but also reckless, impulsive and _maybe_ just a **little** too eager to let people into his office.

Someone like that wouldn't last long, would they?

Hand on his hip, Biker's own smirk grew as he envisioned this man, with his haunting stare and his scar and his messy ponytail, attending anything even remotely resembling a P.R. meeting. He didn't say anything, of course. Someone had to do it, and if he was the boss...

Just as he was about to bite back a joke about incompetence, his blood ran cold. The shift in expression had been subtle, but unmistakable. _It's in the past,_ he told himself. _It's all in the past. These are new pests he's talking about._

Snatching the schnapps off the table to serve himself some more, abandoning all previous hesitation, he cast his eyes downwards as he attempted to keep a neutral expression.

"Ever thought of training them better?"

 

Despite the horrible, traumatising things Sasha had gone through in the past, he didn't want those memories to pull him down and make him an unreliable leader. Impulsive or not, he just always did what was best both for his soul and for the organization, because you know what they say about making your profession fun and worthwhile. Morale had to be kept up somehow, so Sasha's open-mindedness and intense hope for the mafia to grow even stronger inspired Russian immigrants and Soviet supporters alike to keep on joining the cause and helping Sasha's army to amass no matter how many masked death squads tried to take them down.

Biker's inquiry about training Sasha's men better managed to irk the Son, and quite a lot. Sasha was aware of the fact that not all of his henchmen were top-notch killers, but how could Biker even _dare_ to assume that they weren't trained warriors? The Son carefully put his glass down on the table whilst donning an annoyed expression on his face, deeply staring into Biker's eyes.

The nerve that guest of his had.

"I don't know, have I? How about **you** try to train every single fucking rookie who goes in here?"

 

Biker nearly choked on his drink when Sasha's eyes met his own, their haunting intensity magnified tenfold. The kingpin was _pissed,_ and it was no real surprise.

He had briefly wondered how the mafia kept existing despite all the members the Blessings had wiped out, and how the hell this man had managed to bounce back from what the guy in the chicken mask had done, but each passing second in this place made him realize that this was no ordinary guy. He should have guessed that when he witnessed him fire a gun _with a fucking hole in his hand._

But with new waves of so-called vigilantes cropping up, he would have imagined the whitecoats would try to lie low and go about their life in private, not speed down the road at night; especially not their boss, and **especially** not alone.

Struggling not to take a step back, he let the startledness wash over him before speaking again. He couldn't let cockiness take over him again- he was in relatively hostile territory, lifesaver or not. An apology would be best, even though it was difficult for him to admit he made mistakes. It could just enable him to go home unscathed.

"That was really fuckin' stupid of me to say. It just seems tough to have them dropping like flies, is all..."

That was a terrible apology.

 

Sasha noticed that Biker was self-aware of the fact that he made a bit of a faux pas, and the Son was glad that their conversation didn't have to lead to any unnecessary hostility. He especially didn't want to unleash his mild anger upon the person who is pretty much the reason why the two of them were in that room at all. The Russian knew that people would slip sometimes, so he quickly began to consider what just happened as a bygone.

However, Biker _did_ make a good point. It was pretty tough for Sasha to constantly find out about any hit that was thrown at the mafia; all those hard-working men who risked their lives for a cause were gone, and more of them kept getting wasted like it was a sport.

Sometimes, the Son had to let in pretty much any street rat who wanted to become part of the mafia just so there could be some sort of a balance.

Sasha inhaled and exhaled some oxygen to collect himself, picking up the glass again so he could sip on it even more.

"Why don't you sit down?"

 

Biker expressed no outward relief save for slowly releasing the breath he'd been holding, but inside he was patting himself on the back for having had the sense to admit he'd been wrong. In truth, he didn't care at all about the Russians or their endurance, although he did suppose they would have been more of a challenge to kill if they'd put up more of a fight...

The thought made him tense up. How could he be thinking such things now, in here? He wouldn't be surprised if Sasha could read minds; and even if he couldn't, it was in poor taste. Even he could admit that.

The offer to sit down somehow filled him with unease, like he was about to be lectured on something. The situation was tricky: he didn't want to sit, but he didn't want to risk offending Sasha further.  
Looking down at his glass, he mulled it over.

"I should hit the road soon, actually," he admitted, "don't wanna get too cozy."

 

The motorcyclist was getting ready to leave already?

Sasha had a feeling his intimidating tone might have spooked his blue-haired acquaintance to a marginal extent, but, regardless, he thought that it was a bit too soon for him to disappear from his domain like that. He could've at least finished his drink.

"Oh. Well, I wanted to ask you something important before you leave, then."

Since their meeting was going to end soon anyway, the Son decided to gulp down the remaining cognac in his glass before he got on with the enquiring, all to the last drop. He always hated being wasteful with his food and drink.

"Mmh, pardon me. Anyway, I wanted to ask you about your thoughts on that proposal I gave to you earlier."

 

Biker _wanted_ to finish his drink, of course, but he felt like the dip in atmosphere would make him sick to his stomach, which would then lead to him drinking more, which would **then** lead to his lips becoming looser and him fucking up the situation legitimately. He'd take his chances with looking a little rude.

Slowly placing his glass on the table, he took a half-step back before his exit was interrupted by Sasha's question. A little voice in the back of his head scolded him for this being exactly what he'd tried to avoid.

_What proposal?_

Surely he couldn't be referring to _that?_ Biker had assumed it to be a display of arrogance, a prideful insult of an offer designed to get him killed; after all, they'd never met before, and Sasha had known nothing of his skills. Now that he knew him a little better, Biker realized with a slight shiver, he could understand the offer.

And it wasn't like it _wouldn't_ make sense for him to ask now, what with Biker had done, and knowing now who Sasha really was. That didn't mean he had any intention to take it... But he could humor the man.

"I think it's pretty batshit- what makes you think it would be a good idea? No..." Rolling his shoulders, he leaned in a bit, the safety of knowing he was about to leave filling him with confidence, "what makes you think I'd want to do it?"

 

Batshit, huh? Sasha wasn't going to let that opportunity slide away that easily, considering the fact that they had an agreement before the race commenced. However, the Son felt a bit impressed with how Biker subtly demanded to try and get convinced about him potentially becoming the Russian's personal bodyguard. He was obviously a man who was used to getting things done independently, and Sasha liked that about him, but that didn't stop the Son from talking to him more about the proposal.

"A fierce and deadly man such as yourself would be an invaluable asset to both this organization and I. If you do agree to join us, then you have my word that financial stability will no longer be a problem for you. And if a steady salary doesn't mean anything, then receiving V.I.P. privileges and the freedom to attack anyone who seems like a threat might interest you."

Since Sasha hadn't eaten anything prior to him swallowing that alcoholic beverage, he could feel his cheeks getting warmer and his head becoming lighter. His speech started to also become a little slurred, but it didn't really stop him from going on with his risky advertisement.

"Think about it, Biker."

 

The worst thing about this was that Biker _did_ think about it. He knew it was a terrible idea; ex-Blessings member at the beck and call of the Russians? A recipe for disaster, undoubtedly. That, and he'd only really been good around people when it came to sex and leisure- when it came to working, he liked to work alone. That's why his bouncer gigs had worked out so wonderfully. He could just keep an eye on the crowd and get as violent as he wanted when he saw people picking fights...

But at the same time, Sasha was somehow managing to appeal to all the right parts of him. He'd all but fallen into financial ruin once he'd removed himself from the radar, spending the last of his money on booze and gas when he wasn't struggling to pay rent. He'd tried not to think about it, but money would definitely not be a bad thing right about now. The freedom to be violent was also beginning to make his fingertips tingle...

Never in his life had he considered putting someone's life before his own, but perhaps he could take the same approach to it as he did to breaking up nightclub fights. Keep the guy out of trouble and get paid. Tonight he'd sort of managed one of those already, so how hard could it be?

Something inside him was burning again, spreading. The vague excitement from before was pulsing through him now, the thought of perhaps going home and not drinking the night away with one eye over his shoulder making a smile threaten to tug at his lips...

That was an added plus that Sasha was unaware of. Running with the 'enemy crowd' would be the last thing those fuckers would expect. He'd be giving himself a layer of protection- the only one who had seen his face was the man in the mask, and he was behind bars. And even if they did find him, he would now have an ally invested in keeping him safe.

Maybe it wouldn't be so batshit after all- and even if it was, it wouldn't be his first time making a very stupid decision. Some things never change.

"Yeah... Yeah, okay. I'll think about it- it's _completely_ reasonable to start working as a bodyguard for a man you just met..."

Despite his words, he had a spring in his step. He looked once over his shoulder before heading for the door.

"I'll stop by if I make up my mind, but don't count on it. Thanks for the drink."

One last look at the shark tank, and he was gone.

 

\-- BEGINNING OF CHAPTER EPILOGUE --

 

_"Damn, I never even gave him my phone number. I guess he will come over if he makes up his mind."_

 

_"_ _Boss, if I'm allowed to ask... what was all that about?"_

 

_"Greetings, Iosif. And what, you mean that guy who was over earlier?"_

 

_"Yes- you headed out without a word and returned with a stranger and a bandaged hand. I know everyone else is thinking to ask but no one but me has the courage."_

 

_"I appreciate your concern, but I assure you that he had nothing to do with my hand being temporarily out of order. That guy was just a... friend of a friend who I haven't seen in ages, so I figured inviting him over would be a sweet idea."_

 

_"I've known you for long enough to know when you're lying, but if you don't want to tell me, that's fine. Just know that with all the attacks, having strangers appear without any explanation is making your men feel antsy."_

 

_"Ah, fine. You got me, you sly dog, you. That character you saw was this motorcyclist who practically saved my ass from bleeding out earlier today; if it weren't for his help, you would have been reading my name off of a tombstone."_

 

_" **What!?** Well, that's... charitable of him, at least. But why were you being shot at in the first place? I know it's almost impertinent of me to remind you, but I don't think you should pick fights alone. You're no good to us dead."_

 

_"Ah, well, you know how it goes; you dare a stranger to race you around the block, and it ends with small-fry gang members trying to gun you down. And don't worry about me too much, my friend, I still know how to handle my messes."_

 

_"It's my job to worry about you, boss. Don't think I don't trust you, it's not that- I just don't want you doing anything you can't recover from."_

 

_"I know you mean well, but you really should relax a little when it comes to your old friend Alex, i.e. me. Everything is under control, and that man I had a chat with seemed reliable - he may just be our ticket to a brighter future for all of us here._

_Now, how about we go to bed? Some rest might do us well."_

 

_"I don't know if... no, you're right. We can talk more about it some other time. Whatever you decide, I'll support._

_That's a good idea... I need to be ready for tomorrow. It feels like it's been so long since Mary and I have had a moment to ourselves..."_

 

_"You know where to find me if you feel like talking about it, Iosif. Send your lady my regards, by the way..."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Iosif is the henchman! Everyone but the Son basically calls him Joe though.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ooh there's blood in this chapter !! it's so fun to see young son. so full of life despite the pain... we'll see how long that lasts.

Three days went by. Three days consisting of Biker eating soup out of a can, sitting in a room that felt colder and emptier by the day, and staring over at his phone with slight dread on the off-chance that someone undesirable could somehow make it ring. Despite the horrible emptiness that had plagued the place for months, he had to admit the silence helped him think.

He had traced back to the night he first heard about the Blessings. Aubrey had talked it up so much, the prick, saying it would be what anyone looking for a thrill would need- and for a good cause, too.

 _A good cause_. What a joke. Like he gave a shit about that. All Biker wanted was to have fun... Or at least it **had** been all he wanted. Now he just wished to remove the constant anxiety hanging over him.

He still remembered chuckling to himself as he filled out the subscription form. "Die for my country? Sure," he'd said, rolling his eyes as he clicked his pen.

Even though it had had a slow start, he had to admit the thrill of violence had felt incredible the first few times. Then it had begun to feel repetitive. _Then_ it had begun to feel **pointless.**

And then, as he'd tried to find a way out, he'd nearly been killed. Not a light brush with death like the others had been; he'd had to drag himself out of there. Something like that was certainly enough to shift his perspective, and all he could think of now was how glad he was that he'd managed to deal some damage to the other guy.

Despite wanting to lay low, he had to admit he missed who he used to be. He missed being a thrill-seeker, and being around people, and actually laughing... He missed having a life. And the night that had him pondering all this had been the closest he'd come in too long. And as long as nobody found out what he'd done, he could get paid, get his adrenaline kicks, _and_ get unlikely protection if he just took Lebedev's offer (if he were to take it, he definitely didn't want to call the man Sasha).

All he had to do was keep quiet and keep a man from dying. How hard could it be?

The next morning, bright and early, he was back at the shiny black building. No more soup cans.

 

Sasha Lebedev spent the last three days doing what most mafiosos did when their minds were occupied with a certain topic: pacing around in his office with his hands behind his back and his vision being blurry.

Maybe that's not really what high-ranking mafia members did, but the Son was on alert during those past 72 hours, wondering when exactly Biker would show up to his HQ to confirm if he wanted to be part of the organization as Sasha's personal bodyguard. Perhaps he felt excited about potentially having an impressive man such as the blue-haired motorcyclist right next to him at all times, having someone to talk to, someone that will provide extra support and firepower lest shit hit the fan.

Even though Sasha had a lot of connections who he could hit up for business-related meetings or for pure, recreational fun, he never felt fully sated with anything that was offered to him, be it narcotics, coitus with prostitutes, participating in Japanese game shows, etc.

The Son was **lonely** , and he knew that very well. Nothing was ever the same after Irina and his father passed away due to that scumbag vigilante with the rubber rooster mask who infiltrated one of the other Russian bases of operation and killed them both. Sasha had an entire mafia organization all to himself to operate, but no one close enough he could hold dear like he did with Irina. Except for Iosif, of course; he was the closest thing to a friend Sasha had after those horrible events, and the Son even felt like referring to him as his right-hand man for being there with him through thick and thin.

That was all about to change once Biker neared the Russian skyscraper, though.

Two of Sasha's men who were patrolling the entrance drew their pistols and pointed them at the motorcyclist when he approached the doors. They weren't expecting any visitors, and they always had to be vigilant about any unfamiliar faces, so they were pretty much doing their jobs.

"That's close enough, American."

 

On the way over, Biker did wonder a few times if this was all a huge countdown until things blew up in his face, but the burning coursing through him was enough for him to keep speeding until he got to his destination. Getting paid and being protected was more than the Blessings could ever do for him.  
He could hold his own just fine, but if he were to take a fall, it was important that he had a safety net beneath him.

Flirting with death was fun, but he wasn't ready to _commit_ just yet.

His cleaver had been neatly tucked away into the inside of his hoodie, which was as ridiculous as it was impractical, but at the very least it wasn't all that uncomfortable due to the padding. He couldn't very well let it hang from his belt anymore, people would shoot him on sight!  
A small part of him thought that perhaps the cleaver would give him away, but there had been so many masked assailants that he'd be impossible to pin down based on that alone.

Still, perhaps he should consider a gun... As a last resort, if anything.

Pulling up beside the Firebird- good, it was here, that meant Lebedev must be too- he dismounted and popped his helmet into the back of his bike, fluffing up his hair a few times so it would fall seamlessly over his eye. With a roll of his shoulders, he took his first steps towards a new life...

And found guns pointed at his face. Needless to say, he almost instantly reached for his weapon and dug himself an early grave, the instinct deep within him flaring up at the sign of hostility, but he managed to salvage his move at the last minute and put his hands up in surrender instead. Had their boss not told them about him?

Suppressing the urge to scoff ( _American?_ Most of these men were born here too, he was willing to bet), he spoke. "Relax. I'm here to see your boss... He knows I'm coming."

 

Even though Biker kept his hands in a surrender position and remained perfectly calm, the two guards who were on patrol did not holster their weapons. Every single mafia member always had to be wary of strangers who neared them, and if they let their guard down even for a split second, then that might have costed the Russians' lives.

Biker's words made those two men in particular feel a bit nervous when he told them that he was expected.

"Mr. Lebedev never mentioned there would be visitor."

On the contrary. Sasha left a few memos in the building that an associate of his might come over for a visit, but it seems that the Son needed to be more vocal about something as important as that. The guards who confronted the blue-haired motorcyclist happened to be off-duty the last three days, meaning that they really weren't aware that someone would show up and talk to their boss.

Biker was on the brink of getting shot by tensed up Russian mafia members. All he could do was either run away, or try to convince the whitecoats that he wasn't bluffing when he emitted those words towards their general direction.

 

Biker was two seconds from losing his nerve. If the guns weren't lowered soon, he would knock them both out before either could squeeze the trigger. He wasn't fucking around- it took him three days to get here! He was sure his eyes were narrowing against his better judgement.

When the reason for their hostility was revealed, he nearly let out a shout.

_You have got to be fuckin' kidding me! I'm gonna kill him!_

Great way to start his first day. Taking a deep breath, he did his best to stay still. "An American at your door asking to come in. I get how it looks. I do. But could you at least tell him I'm here?"

Seeing the looks on their faces, he exhaled sharply. He had half the mind to just go back home and forget the whole thing.

"One of you can stay out here, for fuck's sake, just- just go inside and tell him Biker is here for the job offer."

_And that he'll be lucky if I don't punch his lights out._

 

The Russians were the last people on Earth to ever follow an order from someone other than their boss, especially from an American stranger who may have been a possible threat, but the two guards wanted this situation to be dealt with as fast as possible, so they reluctantly agreed to do what Biker asked them to do. They thought the motorcyclist looked like a small fry anyway, so shooting him would have been a waste of valuable bullets.

"If you are saying truth, then I will contact colleague to ask Mr. Lebedev for confirmation. If I find out you lie, then you get out of here immediately."

The first guard who spoke those words then pulled back the hammer of his gun, trying to intimidate Biker.

"Understand?"

The Russian mafia member took out his walkie-talkie from his coat pocket and spoke to it in his mother tongue, asking the head of security to investigate whether Biker was telling the truth or not. The man on the other side of the line wasn't aware of the motorcyclist's arrival either, but he replied that he was going to speak to the boss and look into it. It was only a matter of time once they finished their conversation.

 

Biker could hardly believe it. Hands at his sides now instead of up in surrender, he threw his head back and groaned in agony. This lack of professionalism and huge waste of his time was making him reconsider the whole thing _so much_ that he was two seconds from hopping back onto his bike and returning to his cold soup can. Fuck Lebedev if he couldn't even manage to keep his men up to date. Guy didn't **need** a bodyguard anyway.

"Yeah, I fuckin' understand! You think I'd still be here if I were lying? What the fuck's the matter with you, huh? I'm unarmed!"

A lie, of course, but he sure as fuck wasn't carrying it out in the open. And sure he was buff, but what did they think, that his biceps were made of titanium? There was no reason whatsoever to be so trigger happy.

Once the man began to speak Russian, Biker's patience fizzled out completely. Taking a half-step forward, he raised hand and pointed a finger at the man speaking, completely ignoring the other.

"You tell him that if it weren't for me, he wouldn't have all ten fuckin' fingers! How's that for _understanding_?"

 

Sasha's men _really_ didn't want to fire their guns at Biker, but after he took another step towards them and raised his voice, they began to feel more anxious that the muscular stranger might pounce at them and squash them like cockroaches at any moment. Of course, the two guards weren't going to attack an unarmed man who literally just appeared in their lives, as they weren't common street thugs who had access to a deadly arsenal (with some of the weapons being outlawed), but, nonetheless, they were prepared for the worst.

"Shut the fuck already!"

Before things got any worse, the first guard's walkie-talkie interrupted the nervous atmosphere with the man on the other line saying that the Son was irked to the core when he found out that Biker was confronted with unneeded hostility and the patrolling men didn't let him in. Sasha demanded to "speak" to the guard who contacted the head of security.

 **"What the _fuck_ is wrong with you, Lazar?!** I _told_ everyone that I was expecting a guest to come over one of these days, and here you are, behaving like a complete zhopa to him! Let him in before I gouge your eyes out."

The Son's infuriated tone spooked the two guards who were on patrol, but at least they were aware that Biker wasn't a threat at all. After the first henchman apologised to Sasha for his nearly grave mistake, the two patrolmen lowered their guns down, taking a step back from the doors and making way for the motorcyclist.

"Move. You're clear."

 

Vindication. Sweet, sweet vindication hit Biker's soul as he heard his new boss-to-be lose his _shit_ over the walkie-talkie. When he'd been yelled at to shut up (or almost, anyway), he'd felt his knuckles whiten, but now all he felt was intense relief. Seems it was a mistake on their end and not Sasha's... That worked out well for Biker, as it meant he wouldn't have to chew him out and find himself out of a job before he'd even started.

Unable to contain a grin and a short laugh, he pushed past the guards with a short "told you so", shaking his head as he made his way through the double doors and down the shiny halls.

His adrenaline was spiked, meaning he might lash out at any minor inconvenience, but the short elevator trip helped soothe him the most minor bit. Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath and stepped out into the hall again, right up to the man's office. He was stoked to see Lionel again.

Knocking a few times, he scratched the back of his neck, feeling his heartbeat mellow out slightly.

"It's Biker."

 

Sasha wasn't exactly seething with rage when that faux pas on his henchmen's behalf occurred, but he did feel quite annoyed and disappointed that they were almost going to waste the blue-haired man the Son wanted to employ as his personal bodyguard. Someone as valuable as Biker had to be kept alive at all costs, so of course the Russian had to yell some sense into the patrolman with the walkie-talkie, or else it would've been too late.

Sasha couldn't afford to have his henchmen's anxiety ruin everything so soon. Everything needed to go according to plan.

When he heard Biker knocking on the door, the Son felt relieved that he was there and a little embarrassed about what happened downstairs. Mafia leader or not, what kind of welcoming involves two scary men who work for your boss-to-be pointing their weapons at you? That's not the kind of greeting Sasha wanted Biker to experience, so their conversation was going to be a bit awkward.

"Come in, man of the bikes. It's unlocked."

 

Biker barely contained a chuckle at Sasha's way of addressing him. He almost wanted to ask if he did it to be playful or simply to be goofy, but seeing how he blew up not five minutes ago, he decided not to push his luck. Pushing the door open instead, he stepped into the office, eyes immediately falling on Lionel. He couldn't help himself, he fucking loved that shark. Gaze quickly trailing to the actual reason he was here, he adopted a bit more of a firmer pose, straightening out his back.  
He was seeing Sasha in the daytime now, and the image became all the clearer. His eyes weren't as haunting as they'd been that night, but the way he carried himself now was so much more imposing than it had been, and that was with him looking ever so slightly ashamed.

Granted, he wasn't suffering bloodloss or in the midst of an adrenaline high, but that somehow made Biker all the more tense. This was the real thing, more akin to what he'd seen before he'd left to think about the offer...

And now here they were.

"We both know why I'm here." And goddamn was it a total suicide mission. His head kept telling him it was, that things would go wrong as they always did, but he didn't listen. In fact, it _excited_ him. "Made up my mind."

Rubbing his nose, he took a small step closer. "If the pay is good and in cold, hard cash, I'm in."

 

Tranquility needed to exist in the atmosphere no matter what happened to the head of the Russian mafia. Sasha knew very well that he had issues with anger management that usually put him in situations that threatened his life, but he wanted to forget about that occurrence and let it become a bygone, hence why he calmly referred to Biker like that when he heard him nearing the vicinity.

If he wanted to keep Biker on board with the proposal, then the Son had to continue being friendly with him, even if he was about to become his employer.

When the motorcyclist stepped in and immediately said that he accepted the job, the Son cracked a smile of pure satisfaction, walked up to him, and placed his hands on both of his bodyguard's shoulders, feeling pleased that everything was going superbly.

"Then I welcome you aboard, Biker! Money won't ever be an issue now that you're here, so it's safe to say that you did the right thing."

The Son didn't want to waste any time, so when he let go of his new employee, he looked at him in the eye and was ready to get shit started.

"So, are you ready for your first assignment?"

 

That was it, then. The hardest part was over: getting those words out of his mouth. With a deep, internal sigh of relief (and a tiny external exhale), he looked at the face of his new boss before looking down at the hands on his shoulders and slowly smiling. Biker didn't remember the last time he'd been touched so casually, and the familiarity was almost warm. It was only a shame it sent a slight shiver through him as his mind involuntarily processed a thought.

_Getting friendly with the enemy, huh?_

He very nearly told himself to shut the fuck up, which would have translated rather poorly into his current situation. Holding his smile still, he gave a sharp nod.

"Let's hope so. Not gonna put my life on the line for spare change."

Arrogant? Naturally. All the riches in the world couldn't change that. There was no contract to be seen, so all he really had were instructions. Nothing said he couldn't be cheeky.

Meeting the Son's eyes again, his smile faltered. _Already?_ And without giving him his pay in numbers? He nearly protested, but his new boss seemed adamant. He didn't want to fuck up his first day.

"You're in charge."

 

Being the main bodyguard in general required one to be stoic and demanding wherever they were, so the Son was quite pleased with Biker's arrogance already. That kind of attitude can keep anyone alive with the confidence that comes with it - as long as you know how to use it properly, that is. Biker looked like the kind of guy who did, though, so Sasha thought that wasn't something to worry about.

The man in pink didn't seem like he needed some sort of introductory training, too, for he already covered the basics when Sasha saw him handling those goons in the alleyway and professionally rushing the Son to a medical center while he kept most of his cool. He was pretty much ready for anything at that point.

"You will cherish what you will receive, I assure you."

Without further ado, Sasha whipped out his car keys from the pocket of his white coat and pressed the unlock button, signifying that it was time to move.

"I'll explain things on the way out. Let's get going, Biker."

 

Biker was well versed in the art of survival. In a way, that's what had motivated him to take this decision, was it not? He had no problem thinking fast and digging his way out of shit situations- he'd just sometimes rather not have to. His arrogance would be used in moderation, hopefully. He wasn't stupid, after all- he knew this man wasn't to be fucked with.

Aside from having a second life to look after, there wasn't really anything the situation could provide him with that he hadn't been through already. He might be a little rusty, but his fighting spirit had been reignited, and that's really all he'd ever needed. Maybe he could work out as an extra precaution. _Maybe._

He wouldn't press on about the money. If Sasha said the pay would be good, then he had nothing to worry about. Unless he'd meant that as a threat.

Shrugging to himself, he looked over his shoulder at Lionel before following the mobster. First day, surely nothing too amazing could happen? It dawned on him that it didn't really matter whether it did or not.

As of right now, the man's wish was his command.

_To a degree._

 

After about seven minutes of professionally going down the elevator and leaving the building passed, the Son and his new employee got into the Firebird and were on their way towards their destination where their mission was going to commence. The Russian's hand managed to heal faster than he personally expected, so he was able to grip the steering wheel once again, even if he still had to have the bandages on until an entire week passed. Since it was Biker's first gig as the main bodyguard, Sasha wanted to start him off with something relatively easy so he could slowly get used to what was coming along his way with that new job of his.

The Son wanted to follow some proper etiquette as Biker's personal employer lest the motorcyclist got tired of his ways too soon. He figured that a small job that he was going to get done himself in a jiffy was the perfect way to start off Biker's career.

Sasha didn't have any doubts about the motorcyclist whatsoever, but he still wanted to see how his performance was like during the daytime and without any heat on their backs.

After he turned on the radio to have some music play in the background and set the audio volume to very low, the Son began to explain to Biker what they were going to do as he carefully (surprisingly) drove the vehicle to the unknown-to-Biker location.

"Alright, we're going to pay a visit to this guy called Saul who happens to owe me, and thus, the organization, a little bit of spare change that he hasn't given to us in three weeks now. I promised to not have his nightclub seized if he agreed to give us 80% of the earned profits, but it seems I- pardon, _we_ need to kindly remind him that my pocket's been feeling a little light lately because of him. The guy has his own guards, though, so be prepared if everything goes south. Are you sure you can handle this?"

That was a rhetorical question, of course, but he felt like it was right to ask him nonetheless.

 

Going down the elevator in complete silence was torture for Biker. Just because he didn't talk that much lately didn't mean he wanted to be alone with his thoughts! It took far too much effort on his behalf to just stand still and not sigh or lean back. Once in the car, though, he opened his mouth to- first of all- ask if Sasha was seriously fit to drive with a wounded hand, or if he was just being reckless; once he cancelled that one mentally, he opened his mouth to inform his boss that he had his own vehicle and could just follow him. All this mouth opening got him nowhere, though, as Sasha was speaking before he could fit anything in.

Needless to say Biker's performance would probably be far better without the stress of being shot at without a weapon in the dark. He was actually ready this time, in the right mindset to split some skulls if need be. The tingles of excitement, identical to how they'd been back then, began to course through him.

_Man, am I fucked up or what?_

Shocked by his boss' careful driving, but even more shocked by the implication he wouldn't be able to handle a simple round of intimidation, Biker struggled to keep his mouth shut a third time. Did this guy think he'd hired an amateur? Why would he even ask him to work if that were the case?

Instead of answering the way he felt like answering, he took a moment to collect himself, which also served as a moment to focus on the legitimacy of the situation. This was genuine shady business he was getting into, moreso than vigilante shit. This was extortion.

He felt like a badass motherfucker already.

"I wouldn't be here if **you** didn't think I could handle it."

 

Those were the words of pure confidence the Son always loved to hear, especially from the person who was just hired to keep intense situations under control and, most importantly, keep Sasha alive from any imposing threats that might've put him in the coffin for good.

The Son knew that he did the right thing when he proposed that job offer to Biker, for he was already feeling satisfied with his serious demeanour during the car ride. One needed to conserve their primal emotions for the moments where everything went apeshit since the adrenaline rush usually made them feel invincible, thus more motivated to get out of deadly messes alive.

The motorcyclist left Sasha the good impression that he would most likely utilise his combat skills like that if Saul were to sound the alarm and have his goons attack the two men violently.

The two bandoleros weren't going to allow that to happen though. Not in Miami.

"Yes, you are correct, but remember that I've only seen you using a firearm and handling the steering wheel. I trust that you'll be able to show him that we are **not** fucking around."

 

Riding in the car was mostly only serving to make Biker impatient. Did Sasha really choose _now_ to start being a good driver? Who knew, maybe he didn't want to run someone else over and also offer them the position of bodyguard... He tried his best to relax, to let the car ride serve as a buildup to some action. Of course, there was always the chance that there wouldn't **be** any action, but there was no harm in having a little hope.

Casting a glance over at the driver's seat, he held back a snort before shifting in his own.

"You know, that was my first time properly firing a gun. If I could do some damage then, you can probably figure out what I can do when I'm more prepared."

He planned to roll the window down for some fresh air, but opted for staying still instead. The more he kept himself from fidgeting, the better it would feel when he could finally unleash some energy. He kept his eye trained on Sasha, wanting to make sure he didn't flip his shit at the fact Biker was unfamiliar with guns. It wasn't like he had one on him, though, so what would it matter?

He'd better be quick on his feet if _they_ had guns, though. He couldn't always be as lucky as he'd been... but he'd gone up against firearms before and done just fine, and he'd do it again.

Man, he was fucking **aching** to get there.

 

Sasha was a little surprised to hear that the green-eyed man in pink didn't have any experience with firearms prior to the alleyway event that nearly took away both his and the Son's lives. However, the Russian felt quite impressed with the fact that Biker was a fast learner; that only meant that Sasha didn't have to keep his new employee under his supervision, because he knew he'd be able to kick anyone's ass off of the face of the Earth without needing to be coached.

Sasha employed a pure killer at heart, and he was _very_ glad that he did.

"Is that so? Then allow me to give you a piece of your own when we reach the place. Hand-to-hand combat is a nice way to go, but nearly everyone has a gun of their own these days, so you need to have one yourself no matter what."

The Son wasn't aware that Biker had a weapon of his own, but he would have given him a firearm either way. Guns were the machetes of the urban jungle, as the bullets deforested everything in their path, and Sasha knew that very well.

It didn't stop him from using Irina's old katana in battle, though.

As he was driving along the highway intersection above the city itself, Sasha noticed that there was a conveniently placed ramp on the far-right side that was left by labourers who were tasked to fix a minor hole on the road not too long ago. Since the club was located somewhere below and the Son felt like taking a shortcut, Sasha put on a mischievous look on his face as he gripped the steering wheel even tighter, ready for a time-saving stunt.

"Hold on tight, Biker. Things are going to get bumpy."

 

Being a fast learner was a big part of his character, but he also, unfortunately, burned out on things fairly quickly. It took a lot to keep his interest active towards something, but it wasn't completely impossible. He just needed to find something that truly spoke to him and stick to it. Perks of being a Gemini, one could say.  
The good thing about picking up skills with ease was the complete elimination of the need for a mentor. Despite working as a bodyguard now, Biker _hated_ being talked down to, even if it was for his own benefit.

It was with some surprise that he was told he'd be given his own gun, however, his hand almost instinctively going to his large inner pocket. He'd be discarding his weapon of choice in favor of convenience... It made sense, and he was getting a gun for free, so there was nothing to really complain about. Except, of course, the fact his first few shots might miss, putting him at a disadvantage.  
_Fuck it_ , he thought. _I throw knives for fun. Can't be too different._

Shit, wasn't he meant to say something to that?

"Thanks." Perfect. "...Boss."

Those words felt far too alien on his tongue. He'd have to get used to them quick... Anything for that sweet paycheck.  
Closing his eyes as he breathed deeply, he let his mind focus on the speed of the vehicle, which was lulling him into a sort of drowsiness. Not quite enough for him to fall asleep, but enough for him to daydream if given the chance...

And then he noticed a sharp rise in acceleration. His eyes flew open as he saw the world outside zip by, and it was only with a mild sense of dread that he looked over at Sasha, quizzical expression soon turning to one of bewilderment. He opened his mouth to ask- or perhaps to question- what the man had in mind, but as the ramp came into view, he knew.

_This guy really is batshit._

Sitting up straight with his hands ready to grip at whatever they could, he braced himself for impact.

 

Without any hesitation, the Son put the gear stick into the fourth speed and slammed the gas pedal with all of his strength, dangerously driving fast towards the ramp so he could say "fuck you" to all common sense and complete his mission in a way that he straight up _adored_ ; with his life being endangered, and his blood sizzling with adrenaline. He knew he was also about to endanger the life of the man who had previously saved his life from such stupid stunts already, but Sasha was luckily a professional, so he definitely knew what he was getting into that time.

To some extent, that is.

" ** _WATCH ME SOAR, WORLD! HAHAHAH!_** "

The scarred mafia leader then drove on the metallic ramp as he cried those words out and had his automobile flying in the air before both of them even knew it. The launch was rocky, but quick, and the thud that came with it was pretty stimulating.

The sensation of floating that high off the ground without knowing whether you'll crash or not was like no other, and Biker was probably able to tell that from Sasha's loud yelling as they were headed towards the nightclub's messy parking lot. It wasn't sure if they were going to survive from the imminent impact, but it would've been a fine way to kick the bucket either way.

The Son cranked the radio's audio all the way to the max while they were still in mid-air, getting ready to land his Firebird with his own Lebedev finesse.

 

In that moment, Biker had never wanted to kill someone more, but at the same time, his adrenaline had never spiked higher. Nothing really made you feel quite as alive as being faced with certain death. _Almost_ certain, at the very least; he wasn't sure if Sasha was merely reckless or straight up suicidal, but if it was the latter, this mission had no point. None of that was really dawning on Biker, of course- all he could think of was how the impact was going to shatter his bones and set the whole thing on fire.

Perhaps a little dramatic, but it kept his eyes wide and his heart pumping. Gripping the roof handle with enough force to dig his nails into his own skin, he didn't even scream. He merely flew through the air, jaw slack, with the absolute madman beside him screaming and turning up the car's volume. Was he under the impression that he was some warrior headed to Valhalla?

It didn't matter. Even if he'd just been hired today, Biker wasn't going to let this slide. If they survived this, he was going to make it very clear to the Son that he didn't sign up for bullshit.

Even though this was almost exactly the excitement he craved. Yes; had he been on his own bike, this would probably be hilarious, but the loss of control was absolutely terrifying.

_Admit it, you love this shit, you prick._

As the vehicle came soaring down, one very small, nigh insignificant thought managed to break through the shock. The guy was willing to wreck his car? **What about his image?**  
The airbag hit him hard enough to make his nose go numb, and the message really, truly sank in: this guy was fucking insane.

 

Thankfully for both the foolhardy Sasha and the potentially shook Biker, the almighty gods in the sky blessed the Son's vehicle to land in a large dumpster that was loaded to the brim with rubbish, which, somehow, immensely softened the landing and saved the two Miami men from suffering severe damages. In fact, the deployed airbags protected them from knocking on Heaven's door so soon and their faces from becoming Picasso pieces, even if the Russian & the motorcyclist felt like their bodies were scratched by sandpaper because of it popping out in such sudden fashion.

Nonetheless, the two men came out of that hazardous stunt alive, and not to mention nearly unscratched, with Sasha's prestigious Firebird not even having that many dents. The energetic music continued to loudly play from the radio as Sasha's heart continued to beat faster than a fully charged jackhammer. _That_ was the kind of rush that made the feared leader of the Russian mafia feel invulnerable and unstoppable, especially since he was still kicking after that terrifying-for-most event.

He wanted to utilise that temporary feeling of invincibility on his mission, and he was going to do it with complete delight.

After Sasha lowered the volume of the radio, he turned his head to face Biker as he took multiple deep breaths, checking to see if his bodyguard was doing okay. It would have been horrible if he got badly injured, and the Son was willing to admit guilt if that happened. Hopefully not, though.

"Huyase! Phew... that was fucking **sweet**. Are you feeling alright, though, Biker? You'll receive your weapon if you say yes."

 

An airbag pressed to his face and garbage beneath him. Not at all how he expected to spend his first day at work. Of course, he didn't expect to almost die from completely unwarranted consequences either, and now that he knew he had survived the fall, it was starting to nag at him. He was in momentary shock, with stinging skin and a heartbeat threatening to crush his ribcage, his jaw still slack and his muscles tense. A scream was caught in his throat, but it wasn't from fear.  
He wanted to put his arms up in the air and _hoot_ , as loud as he could, as he embraced that he'd just experienced the tightest shit he probably would in his lifetime.

But, of course, he didn't do that. Instead, his eye very slowly traveled over to his boss, where it rested on him, wide and unblinking. His head tilted ever so slightly as he was addressed, and the words coming from Sasha's mouth were enough to steer him away from cheering.

"Yeah," he replied quietly, corners of his mouth ever so slightly curved, "yeah, I'm feelin' alright. I _definitely_ want a gun right now, it would make me feel so much better about almost losing my fuckin' life."

Then, without warning, his arm shot out to grab at Sasha's shirt, and he yanked so hard that the mobster's upper body was dragged to the passenger side of the car. Staring deep into his eye, brow furrowed hard enough to line his nose with wrinkles, his hushed tone became hard and stern.

"You hired me to protect you, you _do not_ get into situations where there's no possible **fuckin'** protection. Didn't sign up to have my life tossed around like a goddamn ball, you hear me? You pull shit like that again, and we're gonna have a _serious, **serious**_ problem. Are we on the same page here, _Boss_?"

He was so fired for this.

 

Well, holy shit. Biker's furious reaction to him nearly losing his life due to the Son's reckless ways on the road was completely justified, but Sasha didn't quite expect to get violently tugged on his blazer by him, though. Such impulsive insubordination would usually lead to the offender getting severely punished by either enduring a cascade of verbal abuse, receiving physical injuries, getting humiliated in the most cruel way possible (like getting stripped out of your clothes & taped on the front of a speeding subway train like poor Pavel, a man who wanted to steal some of the Son's product and sell it on the fence), or simply losing their job with hired killers stalking them afterwards.

However, that wasn't going to happen with the motorcyclist. Sasha got annoyed at Biker due to him putting his hands on the Son's piece of expensive upper-body attire, but he was willing to forgive him and let him be, because the Russian experienced a great amount of pride when he saw that the man in pink wasn't a lackey who was going to take orders around like it's nothing.

He was a warrior at heart, and Sasha **adored** that shit.

"Oh, yes we are, Biker. Now let go of me before I slap you silly; these clothes cost more than Miami itself."

Sasha then started trying to unlock the car door so he could get out of that mess and get Biker that firearm he promised him. It was the least he could do after what they just had experienced.

 

Biker _thought_ he was about to get punished. In fact, he was counting on it. He knew he had been out of line, and he expected to be chained to the back of the car and be dragged around town, but goddammit, he stood by what he said! His life wasn't just another plaything for the Son to do as he pleased with. He may be the employee, but he had to set some ground rules for a man like this, it seemed. Pushing aside the excitement he'd felt entirely, he kept the frown on his face and the strength in his grip. Even if he was about to be fired and flogged, he stood his ground.

Yet the violence never came. It was promised, sure, in gentle words spoken in a bone-chilling tone, but he was not actually being punished! In fact, his words had made an impact! He would have started smiling if it hadn't been for the fact that Sasha's expression held very thinly veiled murderous intent the longer his hand remained on his body. The man was truly full of surprises; Biker had no idea how to feel about it yet.

Letting go, he straightened himself out and cleared his throat before doing the same as his boss. He wanted to thank Sasha for listening, or tell him he had better meant what he said, or maybe apologize for...? Nah, not that one. Climbing over the garbage with a wrinkled nose, he hopped down from the dumpster and frowned at the Firebird. How the fuck were they going to get it out of there? A problem for later, he supposed, but...

Noticing his legs had begun to shake slightly, he decided it would be best to move things along. The only way he could get his mind off this was to enter a new situation. If there was violence involved, he was sure to forget all about nearly losing his life in no time.

Not even waiting for his gun, he began to move towards the entrance of the club. He had come here with a purpose, and he was going to fulfil it, now that he was sure Sasha wouldn't pull any stunts.

They were putting their lives in danger already with what they were about to do _anyway_ , so it's not like they needed to create a whole new situation.  
Maybe that was also why the crash had affected him so.

"Let's just get this over with."

Bossing his boss around was sure to get him in trouble, but he wanted the adrenaline **in** his system when they walked up to this guy's office.

 

Sasha found Biker's impatience to be a bit unprofessional, but there was a job that needed to be done, so he couldn't blame him at all. Especially since the motorcyclist had to endure another round of the Son's death-defying stunts.

Getting the Firebird out of the dumpster was, indeed, going to be quite the task they had to deal with at one point, but two athletic-looking men of their stature didn't need to worry about that at all. With a little cooperation and lots of sweat, the Russian's automobile was going to be put back on the ground and was going to make lots of sound as it usually did. They perhaps needed to drive through a car wash after their mission, though. Rotten banana peels and dirty clown noses didn't look quite appealing on the car, frankly speaking.

"Of course! Let me just grab you that weapon first."

Sasha then opened his glove compartment (which he was glad it didn't get wrecked after the flight) and got his hands on his trusty long-barrelled Buntline revolver. It was easy to be seen, the barrel was 12 inches long, and it was considered by some to be impractical to use, but that didn't stop the head of the mafia from proudly owning it.

After he got the gun and scooped up some ammo, Sasha got out of his car and jumped directly on the parking lot, heading towards Biker so he could become armed and even more dangerous. It was the right thing to do.

"Hold on. Can't start without you brandishing this first, pink man."

Calling him that was perhaps a bit inappropriate after what happened, but Sasha was the boss, and he could do whatever he wanted as Biker could see.

 

Biker's impatience was in direct relation to his efficiency. He wanted to get this job done and _not die_ , and for that he was better off riding the high of the event. It would make his reflexes quicker and his punches harder, that much he knew.  
Turning over to see his boss walk over with the promised weapon, he squinted.  
That was a very long barrel. Long enough to be comical- he wasn't sure how to feel about that, nor was he sure where he'd put it.

He would ignore the use of 'pink man' for the time being.

"What," he was unable to bite back, "think I gotta compensate for something?"

Bad jokes aside, he hesitantly took the revolver, turning it over in his hand. He couldn't see himself cramming this sucker in his pocket- besides, the one lining the inside of his hoodie was taken up already. Regardless of him wanting to finish the job as soon as possible, he had to voice his concern.

"So we're just gonna walk in there **very obviously armed** with our getaway car being fuckin' stuck in a dumpster."

Remembering for a second who he was talking to, he shook his head and began his walk towards the entrance of the club anew.

"Whatever, you're the boss."

The doors were closed, what with it still being early, but a light tug was all it took for Biker to be able to peek inside, and _Jesus_ was this place gaudy. Black and white checkered floor, golden framed mirrors on a vermilion wall, hot pink couches with fuzzy pillows...

He couldn't help but smile for a moment. He loved this kind of thing.

Just as he was about to say that he hoped the place looked better at night, a burly man stepped right in front of his field of vision, causing him to take a half-step back. He gripped the revolver just out of view as he looked up at the man.

He, presumably a bouncer, looked about ready to pluck Biker off the ground at the first sign of movement, but he managed to spot the person standing directly behind him. They had never met before, but unlike Biker, he knew exactly who the man was.

"Mr Lebedev," he spoke hoarsely, giving a curt nod, "weren't expecting you today."

Biker cast a slow glance over his shoulder before stepping aside, hands behind his back.

 

Since the gaudy-looking nightclub did also belong to the Russian mafia, Saul's loyal lackeys knew very well who Sasha was; they **especially** knew that he wasn't the man they wanted to infuriate unless they were hungry for a club knuckle sandwich a la chef Lebedev. Every employee there had been warned at least once about the amount of the damage the Son's wrath could cause, so the mere sight of him would immediately make the bouncers straighten up and watch what they're saying, or else the cleaners would be called in to collect the patrolmen's fallen, repulsive gibs.

"I'm here to see Saul, not a fucking psychic. Get out of my way."

Sasha may have felt a tiny bit giddy after he drove off of that ramp, but that doesn't mean that he wasn't going to get get annoyed at mundane greetings. He was on a mission to acquire some needed funds from one of his many sources of financial gain, not to chit-chat with the guards while he waited for things to slowly advance, so he wasn't going to allow anything to slow down the process of getting what he wanted. A job needed to be done, after all.

"That guy's with me, by the way, so let him through. Come on, Biker."

The Son then pointed to Biker to keep him safe from any unneeded questions from the bouncers. He didn't want them to be a liability to his motorcyclist bodyguard, so he had to look out for him if he wanted to operate things smoothly, as it was vital to be precautious even during the most simple gigs. A rookie mistake most people usually made was deciding to constantly underestimate rapscallions based on their gut feeling, and that, of course, usually led to their doom, and Sasha didn't want that. Not at all.

_Not at all._

The Son then guided Biker through the empty dancefloor and wondered why there weren't any dancers there, until it hit him that it was nearly noon when they got there and that Saul's establishment hadn't been performing that well recently due there being another discotheque nearby that managed to attract more customers, pulling the owner's place closer to bankruptcy with each second that passed.

A minute or so later, the two men finally reached Saul's office and stood in front of his door. It was about damn time to get things.

"You want to do the honors and knock?"

 

The bouncer recoiled on instinct. Sure, it was his job to be tough and immovable, but the Son's reputation preceded him, _and_ he technically owned this joint, so there was no way in Hell he was risking loss of limb over something as insignificant as being in the way.  
He didn't even have to speak. He merely bowed his head the tiniest bit and stepped aside, letting the mobster and his oddly dressed associate get by.

To Biker's relief, the guard didn't seem to notice his weapon, even though there was no real way for him to convincingly conceal it. Truth be told, despite knowing jack shit about guns, he would have preferred something a little more compact... _What were those heavy hitters called again? Magnums?_  
But he understood he wasn't really in a position to be choosy. He didn't want to seem ungrateful...

Looking over his shoulder at the man they left behind, he soaked in the authority his boss had imposed. What had presented itself as a character flaw on the night of their encounter was subtly becoming admirable. Less _arrogant_ and more _commanding_. He had never been able to achieve that. He'd always been stuck on **cocky**.

Being the head of a mafia, especially when young, required an extra layer of dominance. Even if the urge to roll his eyes wasn't entirely gone, Biker had to respect it.

Once on the top floor of the club, which had mirrored ceilings (who was even going to look up there?), he kept his eye trained on the door directly in front of them. Their end goal. He didn't even think twice before reaching out to seize the door handle.

"Fuck knocking."

Saul was at his desk, shuffling a deck of cards as he worked through a bottle of Prosecco. Business was slowly failing him due to competitors, sure, but that didn't stop him from spending lavishly whenever he could. If he was going down, he would at least go down with several expensive possessions around him. Like his brand new leather couches! He loved getting the girls nice and cozy on those.

Besides, there were plenty of partygoers still in Miami. There was always a chance for more business-

The door suddenly slamming open knocked the cards clean off the desk, and as he looked up to reprimand whoever had been insolent enough to do the deed, he saw someone he absolutely did **not** want to see.

"Sasha!" He smiled stiffly, smoothing all the cards back into a pile. "What a surprise..."

 

"Saul, long time no see."

Sasha's reply to the incompetent nightclub owner was generic, but he couldn't really think of anything clever to say, especially since the Son was beginning to feel quite annoyed with what he was seeing: an overly proud waste of a man with a huge bald spot on his head and and a curly mullet tied into a ponytail who was splurging his earnings like the pockets of his beaver fur coat were full of spending paper.

The Son may have been a proud creature himself with said pride oftentimes leading him into trouble, but at least he had something to be proud of.

Saul, on the other hand, didn't.

The balding man was just a regular sleazebag who was **very** lucky he wasn't severely beaten up the first time he got visited by the Russian mafia. He constantly spent the money he received from his 20% income in an irresponsible fashion to sate his personal self-indulgence with all sorts of expensive items  & services. Saul knew that his club was failing and that he owed some money to Mr. Lebedev (with the latter scaring him nearly shitless when the Son entered his office unexpectedly), but that didn't stop him from trying his best to see what it was like to live in the lap of luxury.

Sasha wanted to be polite with the man before he could approach him and inquire about the money to see if he was willing to cooperate to kindness first.

"How are you doing, Artinian? I hope business has been going well for you lately."

 

Saul may have been an arrogant prick, but he wasn't entirely stupid- he knew Lebedev's visit could entail nothing good. The fact he hadn't come alone only emphasized this; he'd never seen the man in pink before, but judging by the size of his arms, Sasha hadn't brought him along merely as decoration. Things were going to get sour fast, he could feel it. Maybe he'd try to appeal to whatever humanity the Russian had...

If he'd ever had any to begin with.

Biker cocked a curious eyebrow at his new boss, as if genuinely surprised he'd be taking the sadistic approach of feigning kindness before administering a beating.

The sight before him was pretty damn pathetic. The nightclub's general tackiness at least had some kind of charm, but this man and his surroundings were purely in poor taste, and it was obvious the guy was spending money on useless shit; money he didn't have. The way he sat there, looking somewhat like a cowering animal despite his practiced smile, told Biker all he needed to know about him. He just hoped the conversation wouldn't be as boring as it would be predictable.

"Bad," the man finally replied, "real bad. Business is _not_ going well, no... Keep losing funds, money's been so tight..."

 

"Ah, so I assume you know how I feel about you not paying me up, then?"

Sasha wanted to let Mr. Artinian know that he wasn't the man you just "forget" to pay after a certain amount of time had passed. If the Son wanted to get paid, then it would have been best for the person who was asked to hand over the money to calmly surrender all of their monetary earnings to the Russian head of the mafia. Otherwise, it was either death or getting smacked around in such a way that you'd be reminded of it until you reached the grave.

The Son knew the club was failing, but that was none of his business, even if he did partly own a small bit of it. The monthly salary was what he came for, and Saul didn't do anything about it.

Hopefully Biker's presence was going to intimidate the curly-haired man into doing what he was told to do.

"Do we have to do this like the last time, or will you stop giving me annoying excuses?"

 

"I... You _know_ I don't have the cash, man...! You come all this way to ask for that? I told you! The money hasn't been comin' in!"

 **Last time**. The words hung in the air like the threat they were evoking- he'd been hung upside down for hours on end, nearly long enough to start causing him long-lasting damage, but he still hadn't learned his lesson, it seemed. He'd thought Lebedev Junior would be different, he thought he'd be more lenient, softer, more understanding... he was just a kid in Saul's eyes, after all.

A real pest of a kid.

Biker couldn't hold back a comment, and with his arms crossed (allowing his weapon to be in full view), he cast one glance to the side before speaking.

"New couches, though."

 _That brat!_ Who was this insolent lackey the Russian had brought along with him? And what would he know about the couches- he'd never been here before!

"Th-they were a gift, what! Can't I have gifts every now and again?" Saul was finding it hard to keep his composure. "I have friends, you know."

Biker highly doubted that, and he could tell that Sasha's patience was running out quick. Saul could tell too.

"Listen, I'll pull the money from somewhere, okay? I just need... A month. Maybe half."

 

"I'd rather see you give me the cash right now than listen to the shit that keeps spewing out of your fucking mouth, _Saul._ "

The situation was getting more tense with Sasha feeling angrier the more he had to listen to the man with the card deck trying to escape out of paying back what he owed to the black-haired Russian, but that's just how it all worked when the Son was in town. Sasha had a lot of assets he needed to take care of in order to keep his organisation stable, and if one of them didn't cooperate with him like he expected them to do, then things weren't going to be pretty.

Especially for the party that had to deal with the Son face-to-face.

Sasha approached Mr. Artinian's desk in hopes of causing the cowardly man to cease lying and get what the young head of the Russian mafia wanted. He didn't want things to get drastic, but if he had to do something rash, then he was going to do so. He was entirely focused on getting that task out of his schedule.

"I am **not** going to wait a month, nor am I gonna wait a minute. I know you have some savings hidden in that tacky desk of yours!"

A mysterious clanking sound could be heard coming out of Sasha's suit pocket with each new step he took. It was faint, but audible enough to be heard by everyone in the room, especially since the Son nearly stomped his feet with the way he was angrily walking.

 

Saul knew he was cornered, but it wasn't like he could spit the money he'd spent right back out! Whatever he had left would surely not be enough, and there was no way he was going to be broke _and_ couchless... But this guy's intimidation levels were rising, and it was honestly beginning to get to him properly.

Those crazed saucer-eyes, that scowl; it was a far wider range of emotions than his father had ever shown, and this was unnerving to Saul.

He had one last trick up his sleeve, though it was a terrible one- it might just work. Whatever Sasha had in his pockets was adding to his unease.

"Alright, alright! I'll see what I got in here, okay? Just calm down!!"

Biker, who had remained stoic yet watchful throughout the interaction, noticed the man was bending a little **too** far down to be rooting around in his desk.

_He's reaching for something._

Without hesitation, he trained his gun at the club owner and cocked it, the click resonating through the room. He was nervous, though. It would be his second time firing a real gun in his life, and he could miss and hit Sasha instead...

Saul froze, finger already on the button on the underside of his desk. It was only a matter of seconds now.

"Call your dog off, will ya!?"

 

Dog? **Dog?!**

Sasha may have known Biker for only three days with this situation they were in being their second interaction altogether, but he wasn't going to allow some prick who was irresponsible with his money to call his new employee a fucking dog. He was much more than that.

The motorcyclist proved to the Russian man that he was more than capable of dealing with threats and problems even when he was completely under pressure. In fact, an overabundance of stress even made him seem like he was much deadlier than before, ultimately making him a very resourceful machine of annihilation, especially when he spoke up to say what managed to piss him off.

Sasha genuinely loved that about him, which is why he hoped Biker would work for him for a very long time.

The Son didn't care if Saul was reaching for his gun or was going to press a cleverly hidden alarm button. That last line of his ticked him off, which is why he whipped out two of his flying stars from the pocket of his suit and threw them directly at the curly-haired man- with one of them slicing off his right ear, and the other one wounding his arm on the same side of his body. It was as easy as that.

"Don't you _ever_ call my men "dogs", you piece of shit ublyudok!"

A lot of blood was spurting out of Saul Artinian's ear wound, nicely covering the white shag carpet that was under his desk in red. Sasha didn't expect that he was going to cause that much damage to the man he simply wanted to collect some money from, but he just couldn't help it. If someone pissed him off, his anger was hard to control, so his actions were simply going to be impulsive.

The Son wasn't fazed about Saul's ear problem, though.

 

The searing pain that came with losing an ear made Saul release the panic button, as well as a bone-chilling shriek that very well may have shaken the window panes. Screaming and crying out profanities, calling Sasha a crazy son of a bitch at the top of his lungs, he shakily put his hand up to his bleeding ear hole- only to notice his hand was bleeding too.  
He had been expecting something, but it had certainly _not_ been that.

Whatever this fucker and his **bitch** were going to get now would be certainly deserved.

Biker's eyes widened in shock as his boss up and sliced Saul up, and a surge of heavy-hitting admiration flooded him. Had he done that as a precaution, or because he was really that pissed off? Whatever it was, it made him feel... honored.  
No one had ever Van Gogh'ed someone over him before.

It made him feel a little happier to be alive.

The second the door swung open behind him, he turned to administer a brutal pistol whip to the newcomer's face, sending him to the floor as another behind him got elbowed. He reached into his hoodie to retrieve his cleaver, running it across the man's chest for good measure.  
That wouldn't be all of them, and he had to be prepared. Guns were really not his thing.

Looking over his shoulder at Sasha, who remained beside the wailing fountain of a man, he decided now would be a good time to speak up.

"If negotiations are over, boss," he raised his voice just enough to be heard over the screams, "I think we'd better move. Gonna be hard to walk over a pile of corpses."

 

Things got clear the moment Saul's underlings began to barge into their employer's room to see what the disturbance was - Sasha & Biker were in deep, deep trouble, and they had to evacuate the premises immediately unless they wanted to take another trip to the clinic when it was all over. The Son felt disappointed that he didn't get what he came to the nightclub for, but hey, not every gig is meant to be successful; what mattered was that Sasha & his new bodyguard got over there and got some work done at all, so maybe they'll be luckier the next time they decide to take a visit to Mr. Artinian's gaudy discotheque.

After the Son heard Biker's voice asking him to come over so the two of them could escape from the oncoming danger, Sasha nodded and stepped closer towards Saul's desk so he could quickly get something done. Taking one last look at the agonized, earless man, the head of the Russian mafia cracked a sinister-looking smile and grabbed one of the cards that got covered in Artinian's blood so he could keep it as a memento; it was a Queen of Diamonds, to be more precise.

"This isn't over."

Those were the last words the curly-haired man heard from Sasha that day, and the Son sincerely hoped he'd remember them.

When the Son turned around and began to walk to the door, he noticed that Biker was brandishing a very sharp butcher's cleaver that he hadn't seen before until now. Where and when did he acquire such a blade in the first place? Sasha didn't know, but he did like what he saw - a badass man who was going to be quite hazardous to the guards' health.

"How long have you been carrying that?"

The situation was inappropriate for the Son to ask Biker that, but one can't tame Sasha's curiosity.

 

Saul's screams subsided to a whimper as Sasha addressed him one last time, making his blood run cold. He was convinced the man was a psychopath, as was expected of any mob leader... He would have to flee the country. Screw this place, he was an ear short! Nothing was worth that much!  
He wasn't even sure he'd make it out of here before fainting.

Biker, though he may have agreed on the psychopath thing to some degree, thought Lebedev was pretty damn badass. There was a certain kind of charm to his ruthlessness, as it meant there would never be a dull day with him around.

_If it had always been like this, I would've joined them instead._

Turning to face his boss, the possibility of being in trouble for having his own concealed weapon crossed his mind, but it was a situation that could be dealt with **outside** the club. He could hear quick footsteps coming up the stairs.

"Since this morning."

Stepping out into the hallway, he was met face to face with a man every bit as sleazy as Saul holding a shotgun. Of course, he slashed his throat open before he could even aim, moving away just in time to avoid the spray of blood that came with the cut.

"And ain't you glad I am?"

What better time to be playful, eh? The men were gathering at the stairs, some with guns, some without, and he quickly devised a strategy on how to deal with them.

The ones with guns were at the front, already taking aim. He pushed Sasha back into the office momentarily before deciding they would be target practice. After that, he could either push past the rest in an utter bloodbath as per the norm, or they could bypass the stairs entirely by jumping over the landing. It wasn't a high drop, so they wouldn't be hindered too much, but ultimately he knew who would make that call.

Once again looking over his shoulder, he very nearly cracked a smile as he once again cocked his gun. Bullets were already piercing the doorframe.

"You wanna jump? Or you wanna fight?"

He already knew the answer.

 

Seeing how every single person in the establishment was catapulting their bullets at Biker & the Son, Sasha figured that there would be only one great way to escape the quarrel Saul's guards were having with the two men. The option he was about to suggest was an absolute deathwish, but the Son was going to roll with it nonetheless.

"How about both?"

Biker heard that right. Sasha thought that jumping over the landing whilst shooting any hostiles him and the motorcyclist could see was the best way to advance their mission, as it would have provided them a better opportunity to leave the joint without having to worry about a wave of armed lackeys potentially murdering them.

Without providing an explanation, Sasha quickly looked around the office to see if there was a firearm he could get his hands on. Thankfully, it was his lucky day since Saul dropped his tiny 9mm pistol on the floor with a loaded magazine and all. The gun seemed even less practical than the revolver Biker was using, but the Son picked up the peashooter nonetheless and ran straight for the railing, ready to rain some lead upon those sniveling assholes.

And so, with complete disregard for safety, Sasha was gracefully falling to the dancefloor while he threw more of his flying stars and haphazardly shot his gun at Artinian's personal army of burly & muscular men. A lot of bodies hit the floor, blood got sprayed on everything, and the Son was having a jolly time while it was all happening.

 

Of course he'd say both. Biker was almost shocked, but this man was about as predictable as snow in July- the amazing thing was how well he went with the flow despite all his spontaneity. He couldn't deny being impressed by it, but now wasn't really the time for admiration. Firing a few shots at their assailants as Sasha went digging around Saul's office (man still whining and all), he noticed the urgency of the situation was actually helping to _improve_ his aim. There was no room for error here...  
And it was with no small amount of glee that he managed to land a few headshots. Seeing brain matter fly through the air was horribly entertaining.

He'd stick to his cleaver, though. Once this thing ran empty, he wouldn't have time to reload it.

Before he could give any sort of go-ahead signal, Sasha was darting out of the office and performing an absolutely beautiful swan dive right off the landing. The guy should be thankful he'd cleared some sort of path! But again, had there been any room for it, he would be very impressed. His boss just kept getting better by the minute.

_For a Russian._

Opting in turn to take the stairs as he witnessed more men fall, he waltzed right out of the safety of the office and straight towards the remaining lackeys, swinging his cleaver with such decisiveness that it whistled through the air. As he sliced up one man, he punched another, and occasionally kicked them down the steps as they tried to manage their injuries. The spectacle would only be improved by a killer beat, but sadly the club wasn't open to the public yet...

Pity.

With bloodied fists and a dripping blade, he hopped off the last step and headed towards his boss, when he noticed there was one other person alive in the building- the doorman. He'd been paralyzed by the commotion and hadn't even bothered to draw his weapon. He merely stood there, slackjawed and wide-eyed.

Biker merely nodded at him before opening the front door. He didn't feel like killing that one.

 

Fortunately for the then-soaring Sasha, the man landed on a large potted plant that saved him from twisting his ankle or fracturing a bone, though he did get his expensive shoes tainted with dirt in exchange. The Son only hoped they weren't going to be a chore to clean when he returned back to his headquarters; he did opt to wear his favourite pair on that day, after all.

After dusting himself off and checking to see if anything had fallen out of his pockets, the Son stood up and scanned the area to see if there were any remaining hostiles that needed to be taken care of, but it seemed that Biker already ended most of them with his blade and piece whilst he took on the stairs.

Sasha wanted to eliminate those other guys by himself, but he was frankly glad that he didn't have to get his hands too dirty, especially since he hated getting gibs all over his suit. He was really damn glad that he hired such an effective killer to help him out with this mission, otherwise it wouldn't have been as fun or exciting - and maybe that's what the Son wanted all along.

A partner in crime who was equally as brutal as the man himself. _It was such a wonderful feeling._

Seeing all those decapitated heads, mangled corpses, and paralyzed guards made Sasha deduct the fact that the two men, indeed, did a number on the armed underlings. There were probably more of them coming in from the back of the club, but there was, sadly, no time to deal with them. The Son & Biker needed to escape the area as soon as possible, which is why Sasha simply winked at the traumatised doorman while he ran outside of the place to catch up with the motorcyclist.

The alarm never stopped blaring, and the donut patrol was, without a doubt, on its way to investigate the damage that was done to Mr. Artinian's run-down dancing palace and his workers. Sasha and the motorcyclist needed to be quick unless they wanted to spill some cop blood, too.

"Quick, to the Firebird!"

The black chariot was still comfortably resting in its trash-ridden nest, so they had to either pull the car out with their slippery hands, or think of something better.

 

Had Biker known Sasha wanted to claim a few more lives himself, he wouldn't have gone down the staircase. Too late for that now, though. The ringing of the alarm was turning into ringing in his ears, and he wanted to be as far away from the crime scene as possible, almost for that reason alone.

Raising an eyebrow at his boss as he exited the building, he headed towards the dumpster at a considerably moderate pace. Like he didn't want to give the man the satisfaction of getting him to run.

"You just wanted to say that, didn't you?"

There was no way they could just hop in and drive away, so he assumed the Son had just wanted to feel like he was on some TV show. It was almost cute.

Still, once standing in front of the dumpster, he crossed his arms and scowled. He said, he _SAID_ it would come back and bite them in the ass to just leave the fucking thing in there. For a split second, he once again felt like slamming his boss against the nearby brick wall.

Looking around urgently, he spotted a van across the parking lot, seemingly with the loading ramp down. Must have been bringing Saul his booze- had he not been planning to pay for that, either? The driver was nowhere in sight, probably investigating the situation inside. That gave him a very, very small window.

"Look for a chain or something."

Yes, once again he was giving his boss orders, but it was still his job to keep them both alive, even if Sasha did everything in his power to make that impossible. Making his way across the parking lot way quicker, he hoped the man had a chain- or something better- in the back of his goddamn fucking car.

They were towing the fucking thing.

 

It didn't matter who was giving the orders at that point in time - the two men needed to get the Firebird running before the cops arrived, statim. That unlocked van Biker spotted was a genuine godsend, because it most likely... no, definitely had some sort of tool that was going to aid both his & Sasha's task at hand.

"I got you, Biker. That dumb asshole who parked his box made this whole charade easier for us."

After the Son followed the motorcyclist for a moment, the two Miami men entered the back of the van and began to look around and examine its inner contents to see if there was anything worthy of plundering. The seats were clean, and so was the floor and pretty much everything else that could be seen by Sasha's & Biker's shock-ridden eyes. Didn't everyone get high these days? Why was the back of a laborer's van so pristine-looking? The Russian man couldn't tell why, but it was making him feel pretty nervous for some reason.

There was just something off about a random van being so sanitised as though no one ever touched it. It was probably best not to think about it at all.

To his avail, the Son noticed a lime-coloured tow strap casually resting in front of a small, hung Picasso painting that was going to help both him and his bodyguard get out of the pickle they were situated in. Talk about convenience; but let's not jinx their fate now.

"Do you think this will work?"

 

Biker was so focused at that point that he nearly told his boss to do the same, to waste less time stating the obvious and get to working, but the guy seemed to be following his lead as it were, and that was good enough.

Approaching the van, he was about to hop into the driver's seat and move it over to the dumpster when he noticed that the inside of the vehicle seemed _off_. Not a delivery van, then? What was it used for, if not for that? And why was it open?

Shaking his head, he decided not to give it any thought. It wasn't the time. Once again heading for the front of the van, he turned back around to be addressed. Seemed the Son had done as he was asked.

"Oh, that's even _better_ than a chain," he grinned, but the gesture was short lived. "Okay, now go strap it t..."

He was giving his boss orders again. Biting his lip for a moment, he decided to correct himself.

"If you could go hook it to your car, that would be great."

Without waiting for a response, he hopped into the vehicle and got it started, knowing full well it was only a matter of seconds until the careless owner came back.

 

The Son didn't really mind Biker giving him minor commands even if he couldn't control himself, because the situation was rather intense as it was. The two men had to work together in order to get Sasha's car out of the dumpster so the two of them could finally hit the road and leave Saul's little kingdom to rest.

Without stalling any longer, Sasha ran outside of the van and ran towards his beloved Firebird that was still riddled in way too much rubbish. Such was life, though. He then hopped into the dumpster itself so he could attach the strap to the back of the luxurious automobile, marking phase one of the Son & Biker's operation to be complete.

"Over here!"

Sasha yelled loudly to his motorcyclist ally to let him know that they were ready to roll. The fear of additional backup coming in was rising by the second, and that Chinese takeaway box that was full of expired noodles the Son had his right shoe in wasn't helping the situation either. Guh.

While the Son waited for Biker to near him, Sasha stepped out of the container and drew his last flying star in case someone were to sneak from behind and attempt a nasty ambush. Not on his watch.

 

Biker didn't need to be told twice. Reversing the vehicle all the way over to the dumpster without looking over his shoulder once (what was one more body, anyway?), he thought he saw something speed past the side mirror, but it wasn't a concern right now.  
If it had been a bullet, then all the more reason for him to hurry the fuck up.

Jumping out of the van without a second thought, he took the other end of the tow strap and hooked it up, kicking the loading ramp back into its place so it wouldn't interfere.  
The second the fucker clicked, he ran back into the van and began driving off- except he was still in reverse, nearly sending him right into Sasha.

 _Fuck_. Cars were hard.

He sensed imminent danger approaching as the sound of sirens seemed to begin to manifest in the distance, which caused him to fly onto the road ahead as opposed to taking the proper care these things needed. The Firebird was pretty violently hauled out of the dumpster, sending garbage everywhere, and Biker hoped to whatever god was out there that the strap didn't somehow snap in half with how harsh the movement had been.

The second he found he'd moved away enough, he dashed out of the van, unhooked the tow strap, and narrowly avoided getting shot at by an unseen assailant.

"Get in, hurry up!"

His spiked adrenaline nearly caused him to take the steering wheel, but he knew Sasha's reckless driving would come in handy this time around, so he stuck to the passenger's seat and deeply, _deeply_ resented the man for not letting him bring his bike along.

 

Oh great - an armed assailant who appeared out of thin air and was firing his rounds at Biker & Sasha as though they were getting egged for giving apples instead of candy on Halloween. What was next, a devastating blitzkrieg delivered from a blimp?

There was no time to dread about that. Sasha needed to get the fuck into the Pontiac and drive both his and the motorcyclist's asses out of there faster than one could say "Grillo Parlante". After quickly taking some cover from the hail of speeding bullets, the Son remained in a crouching position behind his precious vehicle and unlocked it with his keys as fast as he could, rapidly getting into it the moment he heard that satisfying "click" sound.

Sasha knew Biker would get into his car eventually, but he couldn't stop to see to confirm if he ever did so, because any wasted second meant they were most likely going to get brutally shot and have their dead bodies processed into a factory until they became premium dog food that was probably not going to get eaten by canines, anyway.

Such was life sometimes.

Upon plugging the key into the ignition and violently twisting it, the Son put the pedal to the metal and began to drive extremely fast - he really wanted to get out of there. The unknown assailant unfortunately popped one of the Firebird's tires while Sasha was doing that, rendering the vehicle useless from achieving maximum velocity. Bullshit.

And thus, Sasha got him & Biker on the road again, with the Pontiac covered in bullet holes, and his heart beating like crazy. It was just another day for the Russian, which is why he hoped his motorcyclist ally was also safe and sound. Maybe after he took a few deep breaths.

 

Biker absolutely did not hesitate to enter the vehicle the moment it started up, yet nearly lost a limb from how quickly Sasha took off. He debated for a second whether or not to fire back (more target practice couldn't hurt, right?), but decided it would be a waste of ammo as well as effort on his part. Better to just sit back and be driven home. Or wherever the fuck they went.

He figured he didn't need to tell his boss to take a different route home, but he was about to tell him to maybe make a stop somewhere to lose the heat when he felt one of the vehicle's tires pop. He closed his eyes in disdain and hissed gently, hoping this wouldn't be too much of a hindrance.

Maybe they should stop at a garage... At the very least, a **cleaner.**

Whatever Sasha chose to do, he had definitely succeeded in getting them _out of_ the danger zone, and Biker had his fast getaway skills to thank. Once he could no longer feel bullets over his head, he allowed himself to sink into his seat the slightest bit. After each violent encounter came a certain euphoria, and he silently basked in it as the city became a blur beside him.

The Russian may have not expected his new hire to be as calm as he appeared, but this wasn't the first time Biker had been in such a situation, and it certainly wouldn't be the last now that he'd taken the job. He was more than eager for it, too- if every day was like today, he would have found an effective cure for his boredom.

Perhaps even for more than just that.

Riding in silence was more comforting than he'd like to admit, but he did shift his glance from the window to his boss, if only to study his expression.

 

After the shit Sasha & his motorcyclist friend experienced, focusing on the road and getting both him and Biker back to a safe place was the Son's main priority. There was no need to worry about encountering any more of Saul's pesky goons or any coffee-drinking lawmen who would only make things worse for both him & the deadly man by the name of Biker.

Even if one of the Firebird's tires were popped, Sasha wasn't going to let that become a burden. No, he found the tire's state to be quite appealing, actually. Every second he drove on the asphalt road was bumpy, and it somewhat kept the excitement bumping after each new thump the car went through.

And it was a good thing the two men managed to drive away on time, for they spotted a few cop cars heading towards the nightclub while the two of them were escaping. Blessed be their fates, as the men in blue didn't manage to recognise Sasha's car while they were on their way to investigate the crime scene.

"Phew, good thing they didn't sniff us up, huh?"

Yeah, it was a good thing, indeed. The two men earned themselves a treat, especially the man in pink who did most of the bloody work. He was probably hungering for something after the stressful situation he had to endure, which is why Sasha took a few shortcuts along the way so he could be on the lookout for some sort of diner they could stop to recuperate at.

 

The bumps in the road were becoming quite an annoyance for Biker, but he didn't comment on them, merely returning to his original posture to continue gazing out the window. The more time that passed, though, the more he realized that it felt pretty horrible, really, to just sit there and do nothing as his adrenaline rush was wasted. He'd make a note of telling his boss he'd tail him from now on. The idle life of the passenger seat was not one suited for him, despite the feeling of comfort he'd gained from the silence.

Looking over his shoulder as he heard the blare of sirens much closer, he allowed himself a smirk before reclining further. "Mmm."

Lucky break; they'd cut it pretty damn fine. That added to the fun, of course. Still, nothing beat slipping on his helmet and darting off...

The last thing he had in mind was eating, but the flat tire was _really_ starting to get to him, and he knew parking somewhere discreet would enable them to let things cool down, so he chose to further shatter the soothing silence.

"Think we should pull over somewhere? Get this fixed, you know..."

 

Not being able to steer the vehicle easily, Sasha was beginning to feel the circumstance he was in gradually getting on his nerves. The repulsive noise of metal scratching against the asphalt with all of its might didn't aid his situation that well, and the addition of loose rubber flapping about like it was its daytime job didn't really help that much either. Biker was right for suggesting to the Son that he should have taken his Firebird to a garage so he could get that popped tire fixed as soon as possible, but Sasha had other ideas in mind, as the motorcyclist could see.

"I wager you and I fix our appetites first, killing can work up quite the hunger."

The Russian had set himself up a task, so you know he was going to get that done first before anything else. He was in the mood for a something sweet, preferably something that was glazed liberally and had its insides filled with a chocolatey cream that was going to give Sasha the sugar rush he needed. Or hopefully not, for everyone's sake, but he was going to treat himself nicely either way.

After driving for about eight minutes and being on the lookout for a worthy fast-food establishment meant for a true mafioso, the Son managed to spot a nifty-looking donut-&-coffee shop that wasn't brimming with life yet. It was a little past noon, so most people were either working or sleeping around that time.

Good. People weren't going to feel weirded out by two men who were covered in blood that was still fresh.

"Oh yeah, this is the spot right here."

Sasha couldn't wait to park his injured vehicle on the lot and get inside. A hungry lad, he was.

 

It was a relief to know that he wasn't the only one being tortured by the bumpy ride; Sasha's expression told a story all on its own, and it wasn't hard to tell what it was. Yet his approach was not one Biker particularly agreed with, as he found his idea to be far superior, but it didn't matter much. The boss was the boss, and if he got them in trouble, Biker would just say he was a hostage.  
_Hah._

"You wager?" The small puff of air he released gave itself away as a laugh when accompanied by his tiny smile. "What's with the language, you a vampire or somethin'?"

His joke, though unprofessional, led him to notice for the first time how caked the man was in drying blood. How had he gotten so dirty when Biker had been the one doing all the close combat?  
God, he didn't even want to **look** at himself. He probably looked like something out of a Stephen King novel...

Which was why it seemed absolutely absurd to him that they would be stopping at a donut shop of all places. Did Sasha want them to get in trouble, or was this place so used to the mobster swinging by that they refused to question it? He guessed he was about to find out.

"You wanna get donuts. Lookin' like this."

 

"In short? Yes."

That's all the motorcyclist needed to hear from his Russian employer - the two were going to get their just desserts, and that was final. After Sasha found an open parking space that didn't have to be paid for, the man got out of his vehicle to breathe in some fresh air and wait for his blue-haired employee to come out as well, so the two men could proceed inside the shop even if they were covered in lackey blood.

Everyone in Miami knew that the city was a dangerous place to live in despite its flashy and inviting landmarks and beaches, so two built men, who happened to be splattered with someone else's red bodily fluids, entering an establishment so they could themselves something to eat wasn't really that shocking to the nation. The people had witnessed things that were far, far worse than that, so Biker & Sasha didn't need to fear getting unwanted attention just because they were a little hungry.

When Sasha & his bodyguard got out of the Firebird, the Son headed directly towards the entrance of the donut shop and quickly got in line. It's a shame there were already two people in front of him, but Sasha was only going to do something drastic about that only if they took too long.

 

Biker was tempted to pinch his nose, but that would involve touching his face, and touching his face meant possibly getting even more blood smeared everywhere, and in that moment he wanted nothing more than his goddamn helmet. Now was as good a time as any to bring that up, so once he'd slammed the Firebird's door shut and gotten on his feet, he shoved his hands in his pockets and decisively walked towards his boss.

"Not that it isn't _great_ to zip around the city in your colander of a car, but I'd feel better on my bike. 'Sides, protection... Y'know, helmet?"

Sighing as they entered the donut shop, he made sure to not make direct eye contact with anyone inside. The smell of coffee definitely awoke his appetite, though, which took him by surprise. He hadn't had donuts in months...

"So yeah, I'll be following you on it next time if that's okay."

It _better_ be okay, he added silently.

 

Whilst he was eagerly waiting for the line to clear up, Sasha acknowledged his motorcyclist comrade's simple request that was all about him being able to ride his two-wheeled vehicle the next time him and the Son went on a mission. The Russian had a strange feeling that Biker probably felt uncomfortable that he wasn't on his trusty motorbike while he was riding shotgun next to his new employer, especially after he had to go through that one stunt that nearly put the two of them into their graves, which is why Sasha completely respected what the motorcyclist asked for and was more than happy to allow him to operate in that kind of way from that point forward.

Only if it didn't jeopardise their future endeavours, of course.

"Oh, of course it's okay, Biker. You performed pretty damn well the first time we drove away from those gang members, so go right ahead."

Sasha's future car rides were going to be pretty lonely without Biker sitting next to him, but he knew he was going to be able to handle that kind of loneliness with finesse, as he didn't have to talk all the time to feel satisfied with life. The Son just had to focus on his duties and do his best to keep up the morale, mostly between him & his new employee.

When it finally became his turn to order, Sasha smiled at the cashier as though he didn't have blood dripping from his sleeves. The lady at the counter was too shaken to fully register what she was seeing with her own two eyes, which is why she wanted to get the head of the Russian mafia's order over with before she began to completely freak out. The Son then ordered eight glazed donuts to be put in a box and a small coffee, as hot caffeinated liquids were necessary to engulf if he wanted his donut-eating experience to be superb.

"Do you want anything, pink man?"

 

Biker performed an internal victory dance at the approval of his request- or rather, his demand. The terrifying mobster he'd seen back at the club had faded back into this strangely friendly, undeniably charismatic young man, and he once again remembered what a fucking pull the dude must have to be able to run a mafia and be like this.

Turns out there were several aspects of him to be admired. Or maybe it was just the Son's weird voodoo eyes tricking him into thinking he was some cool dude. Didn't matter.

Murmuring a 'thanks', he tried not to focus too much on how the blood on his boss made said eyes pop out even more. It sent chills down his spine. Instead, he focused on pitying the lady behind the counter; he was sure she wasn't paid nearly enough for this.

"Yeah, I want some joe. Black... Two of those pink donuts, too."

He gave the lady his best smile, flashing teeth through blood-speckled lips. He was going to need to wipe his mouth before even attempting to ingest anything. Turning away from her before dropping his smile, he faced his boss, arms now crossed.

He knew he hadn't even been paid yet, but he couldn't pass this up. He'd never live it down.

"And a raise."

 

"Well, you're still standing in one piece, that's for sure. Alright, you got it."

When it came to giving his employees a raise, Sasha's requirements weren't that stern, considering the concerning mortality rate of his henchmen. Biker had proved to the Son that he could keep himself alive while handling the situations he was in under complete control, and ideally at that, so he definitely earned himself a bigger salary in the future. The Son _generally_ didn't enjoy giving out things to anyone, but if someone truly deserved it, then he was more than willing exercise his limited generosity.

After paying for the two men's order and dropping five dollars into the cashier's tip jar, Sasha grabbed his nourishment and walked towards an empty booth he and Biker could sit in. The seats looked pretty slick for a donut diner, but Sasha wasn't going to complain about that, especially since they were so soft and so welcoming.

Without saying a word, the Son opened up a sugar packet and poured its contents into his coffee and began to stir it. Once he was done, he simply took a small sip of it while he had his half-closed eyes looking at his motorcyclist friend. It was his way of saying "what a day, huh" without having to unleash any words out of his own mouth.

 

 

Wait, really? Honest to god, Biker had expected a "no, fuck off", and he would have been _happy_ with it. But to actually be promised a raise (for a salary he didn't even know yet) was a pleasant, yet unforeseen, surprise.

"You must really like me, huh," he mused, taking the seat opposite his boss. " _Or_ you're extra satisfied with my performance."

Trying to conceal a cheeky grin, he blew on his coffee and once again embraced whatever silence accompanied their presence. The faint music on the speakers alongside the clinking of dishes coming from the kitchen created an ambience that deeply contrasted with the two men's appearance.

Weren't they just sitting ducks? He bet cops came into places like these all the time. But then again, he couldn't remember a _single_ time police had gotten involved with the mafia's activities. The realization was unnerving, though not all that shocking.

Meeting eyes with his boss as passively as possible, he reached for the napkin holder and began to rub his face down, flaking off the dried blood.

"Good day," he said without much thought. Partly a joke, partly true. All things considered, that had been fun as **fuck.**

 

"Hey there, pleasure to meet you."

Things had calmed down at that moment, so Sasha thought it would have been groovy if he played along with Biker's comedic greeting while he continued to drink his caffeinated beverage. The two men didn't need to be serious all the time, now, so the Son could afford to be a little silly, too.

 

He nearly choked on the tentative sip of coffee he'd taken, putting a hand up to his mouth to prevent himself from spilling any. Once he'd recovered, wiping his hand on his pant leg (as the damn thing needed a wash already), he cleared his throat and shook his head, trying not to laugh.

"No, I meant the day was good." He reached for one of his donuts. "Fun..."

 

"Ah, then you're absolutely correct. This entire day overall showed us that we're capable of working together and getting shit done, even if the odds aren't in our favour."

Sasha didn't even care that he still had blood on his coat. He was hungry and wanted to enjoy his snack with Biker before they left the place to wash up at the Russian HQ. After he opened the box of donuts and grabbed the one that had the most sprinkles on top of it, the Son raised his O-shaped dunker like a shot glass so he could pretend clink it with Biker's.

"Cheers to our future endeavours."

 

Were the odds really ever against them? He couldn't help but wonder, having pulled this sort of thing so many times before. Might not have been the same for the Son, though. Either way, teamwork was an all-too-new experience for him, and he was proud of himself for having managed to roll with it.

Unable to suppress a smile at his boss' gesture, he gently bumped the donut with his own. The day had honestly gone better than he'd expected, and if he could keep his eyes open and his mouth shut, he could be having many more just like it.

"Yeah. Cheers."

**Author's Note:**

> ... still at the bottom but with a funky new ship


End file.
